You're doing what now?

As first semester madness prepares to die down (it hasn't actually died down, technically: I've got a final exam on Monday, a final exam Tuesday morning, and a final eval Tuesday afternoon) and clinic madness prepares to commence, I realize that I haven't actually blogged about massage school much. Granted, I haven't written much of anything in general, or drawn anything, or any of that fun stuff, because I've been too busy learning bony landmarks, muscle attachments and actions, and how to give a killer (and ethically safe) Swedish massage. But I figure the end of my first semester is as good a time as any to reflect on what's been going on these past three months that doesn't involve sweaty women in uniforms running amok on a field.

So, massage school. It's both harder and easier than I imagined. Touching people daily is a strange and sometimes wonderful (and sometimes incredibly awkward) thing. I've learned that I can still give a really good massage to people I find irritating, which is good. I've learned a lot about bones and muscles, which is probably my favorite part, oddly enough. I've learned that I don't really like being on the table for too long, which is unfortunate. I'm pretty sure I've done something awful to my knee, which is REALLY unfortunate. I'm pretty sure the something awful has something to do with giving two back to back 90 minute massages, plus driving on the parkway in the dark for the first time the next night. Plus STILL being unable to find satisfactory shoes that fit me properly and don't make me look like a nurse. A nurse with a lazy mohawk, to be sure, but still a nurse. Seriously, why are wide width shoes so hard to find, and so ugly when you do find them??

But I digress. I started clinic on Thursday, which was sadly kind of a big bust. I got myself all nervous and excited, and I set my little massage cubicle up all nice-like and found my client's file (eventually) and worked out what I was going to say when she got there and everything... and then she never showed up. Bleh! Disappointing. Especially since I had to wait out the full hour anyway before I could go back into the room to get my stuff, since that would be disturbing to the clients who did show up. But at least I still get credit for the hour since she didn't cancel. Also, she appears to have re-booked for the same time this coming Thursday, and I'm assigned to her. So I (hopefully) will get the chance to work on her after all. (And no, I'm not going to ask her why she didn't show up last week. that would be rude) So clinic has been a whole lot of nothing so far (nobody booked me for Friday), but the graduating class is leaving really, really soon, so things will soon be totally out of hand. I really want to try to find some time to squeeze in a visit to my family and friends in New York, but I'm starting to doubt if that's possible between clinic, a half marathon I'm interested in working for clinic hours, and Amanda's class schedule. Which sucks, because I really miss my family, and things are only going to get busier from here.

On the plus side, I'm going to be moving closer to campus soon (still need to work out the exact date... why is my two week break seeming so much more stressful than the semester??), which will enable me to work more clinic hours more easily. I'm hoping this move will be a good thing. It's not going to be easy getting used to not living in the same house as my girlfriend again... But I really need to take care of these clinic hours, and taking some of the stress off my driving knee and a whole lot of time off my commute should help.

So, that's life right now, mostly. Too much stuff, not enough time. So what else is new?

Closest Game Ever?

It was like US v. Brazil all over again... if Brazil had won. Still and all, as sad as I am that we didn't win, I am immensely proud of my Cheesesteaks. It was an incredibly close game (seriously: tied in regular time, no goals in overtime, Flash just barely got 5 out of 5 penalty kicks in the shootout and Independence got 4 out of 5), especially considering how many severe thrashings we were dealt from the get-go. I mean, Flash was VIOLENT. And our girls were HARDCORE. The Western New York Flash should be renamed the Western New York Bash... YourNoseInWithOurElbowAndNotGetCarded. Kai should have gotten a medal just for staying in the game. What with the bashed in nose (I really wasn't joking about the nose bashing) and the concussion and all. And everyone should buy Amy Rodriguez a drink for how many shots she took (even if she only made one. hey, she tried really hard). I wouldn't be surprised if it went into the double digits. Our girls may be limping back to the bus without medals, it's true, but they should be limping back with pride.

"It's the Standard Grandpa Drill"

In a way, I was very lucky to grow up without television. When the weather was bad, I could be blissfully oblivious to how much everybody was freaking out and just take it as it came. So right now I'm having a hard time telling if this hurricane's really going to be THAT BAD, or if I'm just so unused to crazyweatherhype that it seems scarier than it really is. I mean, the weather channel made the rain last week look crazy scary, and I only encountered slightly more puddling than usual. Know that they're truly whipped up into a full fever pitch frenzy, I'm having a hard time deciding just how hysterical I should be. Television has me wanting to evacuate the whole damn state and write it off as a loss, but my girlfriend assures me (as she stockpiles giant jugs of water and canned goods and tarp) that the worst her house is going to get is maybe some flooding in the basement and a power outage. Oh, and I should maybe move my electrical stuff away from the windows. Y'know, just in case they shatter. No big deal.

Still and all, it could be worse. My school has already canceled classes for Monday, so I don't have to worry about missing another day (I already missed Wednesday and Thursday due to severe vertigo and then severe exhaustion from the medicine I was put on for the vertigo). My team is playing the Championship game in Rochester instead of on their home turf, so it shouldn't be canceled due to flooding. Plus Amanda and I won't be so tempted to go and end up getting stranded in Philly in a hurricane. And if the storm is really as bad as the hype, I've got valium now! Yes, apparently they can treat vertigo with valium. Who knew?

On a down(er?) note, my mom has informed me that apparently our surviving cat, Gracie, went out early Wednesday morning and has yet to return. She's pulled stunts like that before, though not often and not recently, so I'm trying not to panic yet. But if she doesn't return before the storm, I don't like her odds. She's a scrawny little thing, nineteen years old, arthritic... Very spry still, but I don't like her chances against hurricane force winds. Even if nothing bad's happened to her yet, I doubt she'll make it through the storm without someone taking her in, and I doubt she'll let herself be taken in. So here's hoping she's okay and that she comes home before the storm hits.

Dear Righty

I'm sorry for breaking your claw off. It was very pretty and blue. It was an accident, I promise. Hope we can still be friends.

p.s. I tried to throw you another hot dog, but the seagulls stole it.

I kind of like a sport now.

I will at some point write a post about moving to New Jersey and starting massage school, but right now I'm so tired of thinking about bony landmarks and trying to remember which is a tubercle and which is a tuberosity that I'm just going to focus on the part of my life here that will probably be the hardest for people to believe: I kind of like a sport now.

Don't worry, old friends, it's only women's soccer. Baseball still bores me to tears, basketball doesn't hold my interest, I'll watch hockey only if Amanda really, really wants to, and even men's soccer doesn't do much for me. Although I did enjoy the men's World Cup, so I guess I like it when it's international and/or there's something at stake. We'll see if I still like women's soccer when it's all US teams on college soccer fields. I suspect I still will, and if you've ever seen pictures of Megan Rapinoe, Abby Wambach, or half the players of the Philadelphia Independence, you'll understand why.

That's actually how Amanda and I picked the team we would follow after the World Cup (from the six teams in the WPS. seriously, there are only six teams to choose from). We were cruising the WPS website and a banner popped up with this amazing looking butch with chunks of bleached hair, and I said "OOOH! What team does SHE play for?" We are now in her fan club and are going to get our picture taken with her after the game next weekend. There are several other fabulous gay-looking players on the Philadelphia Independence, so even if she should leave the team, we should still be good. We were really stoked that Rapinoe was on the Independence, but it turned out that she was only with them briefly before being traded to magicJack (not the magicJack or the Washington magicJack. Just... magicJack.) But she was with them long enough to sign balls and jerseys, apparently!

After much analysis, Amanda and I determined that she's the big M and R thingie with the 11, since her initials are MR and her number was 11 with the Independence, and there is no 11 on the roster currently. Also cool, right above her signature is Amy Rodriguez, who was also on the US team (and I believe is still with the Independence, so bonus points) and is also awesome.

We swore never to be fans of magicJack, because what the hell kind of a team is sponsored and renamed by a sham product like magicJack, anyway? But since they've got Wambach, Rapinoe, and I think a bunch of other awesome US team players, we have had to reevaluate. I'd still rather see the Washington Freedom vs. the Philadelphia Independence (Freedom vs. Independence. It's ON.) than magicJack vs. the Philadelphia Independence, but I'll take what I can get.

At any rate, go team go, and may the better man win as long as he's a woman with a butch haircut.

Shirley

My great-aunt Shirley passed away last night. I have to admit, it hasn't really hit me yet; I think I already did a lot of my mourning last week, when I first realized that she probably didn't have long left. I am sorry I didn't get to see her again, and I'm really sorry my brother didn't get to see her. My dad is pretty upset that we hadn't visited her much in the past few years. For a while there we were spending a fair amount of time with her, and I think we were all getting something good out of it. There was a distance over the past few years for reasons I've never really understood, I think more to do with distance in my dad's family than with Shirley herself. It's a shame, really, because Shirley was great. I'm sorry we didn't get to see her more, but I'm glad we got to see her one more time.

First Day

So my first day of freedom has set me off to an odd start. The morning was very nice, lots of sun and running around in the yard to make up for the years I spent working in a mold-encrusted, windowless bomb-shelter of an office. The afternoon not so much, because I spent most of it crying. My great-aunt Shirley's daughter called to tell us that Shirley isn't doing well, which was very distressing, since Shirley is amazing. We went to see her briefly, and although she definitely is not doing well, she still recognized us and was happy to see us, and actually asked after my brother by name. This was particularly touching because his grandfather couldn't remember him at all in his later years even when he was in the same room, much less halfway across the country.

I ended up canceling drinks with my co-workers because I didn't know how long we would be at the nursing home and doubted I would be much fun to be around. But then I ended up still going out for drinks with my team and Betsey, which was probably better tonight than going out with the whole mob. Especially since I found out that one of my co-workers received a promotion months ago without it becoming public knowledge, despite the fact the he is a lousy employee, makes frequent offensive comments, and does not have a college degree, which is a requirement for the position he was promoted to. I was already galled by the thought that I was recommended for that same promotion half a year ago and yet was still making the same money he was, despite having a college degree and being a harder working and more skilled employee. So finding out that for much of that time I was actually being paid LESS was like a slap in the face. And had I found out while he was present, he may have actually gotten slapped in the face.

And had I found out while I still worked there, I probably would have made a huge stink about it to anyone who would listen, and anyone who wouldn't, and then some.

On the bright side, if I ever had any doubts about Mercy being a horrible place to work and thought maybe I shouldn't leave, this has erased them. If someone who is commonly acknowledged as being a crap employee and who does not meet the qualifications for a position is promoted over someone who is commonly acknowledged as one of the best and most dependable employees in the office and who is qualified for the position, there is something seriously wrong going on. Not that there being something wrong there is a new concept to me. There are many, many things seriously wrong with that place. This is just the most personal insult.

At any rate. It's been a mixed day, and a strange one. Sweat, tears, hail stones, and alcohol. I'm hoping things will improve from here.

Two Weeks

Today I finally gave my two weeks notice at my job. The anticipation was really the worst part of it. I think I either made myself physically ill this week from fretting about it, or I picked up a stomach bug. Or both. I definitely feel a good bit better than I did (I was pretty sure I was going to puke for a while there), but not great. Although I'm still pretty anxious, so it could still just be nerves.

So far everyone who knows has been really good about it, and very encouraging. Except I guess for my boss Jeff, but he's... Jeff. He just kind of said "okay" and asked me when I wanted my last day to be. Which is better than it could have been (especially since I'm leaving right at the start of the worst part of the year for our department), and it was probably about as much as I could handle right then anyway. Karen and Kim have been really supportive and fantastic. And my teammate Sara is jealous, but she's on her way out in August anyway, so she won't have to be jealous long.

And so. Onward and upward, moving right along, and all of that goodness.

History

I recently read Billy Bragg's book, the Progressive Patriot, something I've been meaning to do for a good while now. It was different from what I guess I expected, but not in a bad way. A mixture of personal and familial history, general British history, music history, and reflection on what this "Britishness" actually is that apparently everyone is feeling the loss of but which no one bothers to define. I was especially interested by his use of diary excerpts from previous generations, which made me think about how different diaries were then from what passes for diaries now. It's not even that they were more introspective or anything; most of the entries seemed to be statements of fact about the wars, how many lives lost, how many bombs dropped, one day that was remarkable simply because there wasn't an air raid. There didn't even seem to be any personal reflection, just statements of fact and that was all that was noteworthy. Compare that to my own diaries over the years... just whining and grousing and talking about pepto bismal and contradictory statements and complaining about my brother and on and on ad nauseam. Or even to most blogs I've seen (or written) which are nothing but personal reflections and completely ignore what's going on in the world. If future generations by some misfortune stumbled upon any of my blogs, would they even know there's been a war going on? Or would they think the only things happening at this period of American history were bargains on videos (although I guess that could demonstrate the dire straits our economy is in).

The fact of the matter is, everything America's been doing overseas in the recent past is practically incomprehensible to me, so it's hard for me to reflect on it much. And I never thought war should be the only thing we learn about in history class, although that's how I remember everything being taught. Which may be why I was never all that interested in history until I started reading books about old movies. History needs to relate to something we can understand and appreciate, and I've never understood wars or power struggles. I can't imagine ever wanting something enough to kill or die for it, let alone enough to send thousands and thousands of strangers off to kill and die for it. And let's face it, at least in the history classes I've had, we were taught next to nothing about the Middle East anyway, so it's not like we were prepared to understand anything that's been going on. Because everything that's happened recently is tied to everything that's happened in the past, and since I don't comprehend the past I have trouble understanding the present situation.

I definitely didn't understand the general reaction to Bin Laden's assassination, for one thing. To be honest, I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I don't see how people could be celebrating in the streets. Not only because I don't understand celebrating someone being killed, but also because I don't understand celebrating when you have to realize there will probably be very nasty consequences for killing him. That night I was actually over at a friend's house and near a tv (both most unusual), so for once I was able to see the news when it was still relatively fresh. We were all sitting around full of home-smoked meat and watching Super Troopers, when our host's sister came in and told us to put on the news. And while hundreds were probably shooting off fire crackers, we all had a collective "Oh, shit" moment.

Oh, shit, he's actually dead after all this time.

Oh, shit, WE killed him.

Oh, shit, this is going to piss off a lot of very dangerous people.

Oh, shit, how are people celebrating? Do they really think this is the end of it?

Oh, shit, what now?

But hey, maybe this will somehow be a good thing. Maybe this is a step toward peace and not a step toward even more war. You never know.

After all, I wasn't a history major.

Who Says Money Can't Buy Happiness?

1 Blockbuster going out of business + $80 of hard-earned moneys = cinema happiness.

You know when people say "It was like being a kid in a candy store"? This is when a movie nerd like me says it. All those years when my family and I were actual card-carrying Blockbuster members (instead of the netflix consumers we have become. I mean, the nearest movie store was half an hour away; it was bound to happen), I dreamed of being able to walk down those aisles and just grab every movie I loved off the shelves and take them home forever and ever and ever. So as guilt-riddled as I felt showing up for the first time in years for the sole purpose of cleaning them out, it was a total dream come true. The sales clerks were good sports about it, even though I did buy Back to the Future 1, 2, and 3 out from under one of them (I didn't have the heart to tell him they're for my girlfriend. I'm sure I'll enjoy them too).

My glorious 15 or so new acquisitions + me buying Spaced online = happiness

So who says money can't buy you happiness? I can curl up with Simon Pegg, Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, and my girlfriend (hi, honey!) all in one weekend. Who could want anything more?

Illustration Friday - Swarm

It's been a while since I've felt inspired by Illustration Friday. The word this week reminded me of a series of drawings I always wanted to do but never did, so I finally let one of these strange visions out. Lord only knows where or when I first started having this idea of butterflies as things of menace as well as beauty, but it's certainly been with me for at least the past few years. Someday I'll have to scan some of my etchings from my last year in art school. I started writing this whole visual fairytale about an androgynous girl being attacked by a faceless, tuxedoed magician figure and his butterflies...

They really do swarm, though. Seriously, type monarch butterfly swarm into google image search. Then tell me you wouldn't be terrified if you saw that gorgeous insect army descending.