Upward and onward

I have an announcement.

Maundering Pondering is no longer in existence. It is dead and gone, a thing of the past, never again to see another day.

But don't cry, little cupcake. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I bring to you:


I now have my own website – my own boom, here’s my website website. It’s easier this way, don’t you think? None of that dot-blogspot-dot-com hooplah. From now on, I can be found simply at www.hootenannie.com – so tell your friends. Change your RSS feeds. Update your blogrolls.

I appreciate it. I know that it’s annoying. I know that it’s a hassle. But I am grateful that you will update on my behalf!

Now come on over! www.hootenannie.com – all the cool kids are doing it.

Back on track

Yesterday, I experienced true grace.

To back it up: last week, I really slacked on my training schedule for the half-marathon – meaning, I ran one time. ONE time! If I am hoping to run 13.1 consecutive miles in a few short months, then I need to keep up with the program. After such a lousy week, I started to feel like this whole running “thing” was not for me: there’s no way that I can do it – I’m not a natural runner – I’m behind on the training – I can’t catch up – I’m unmotivated – there went my $85 registration fee.

But never fear: as is becoming a regular occurrence, PZC to the rescue.

Paul called me on Sunday morning after I missed the group run, and said, “This is unacceptable. You haven’t even done your time trial yet. What are you doing tomorrow night? You’re coming running – no excuses.”

So Paul and Josh and I met at Centennial Park to do my time trial – basically, run as fast as you can sustain for 3 miles, which becomes a benchmark pace for other training runs. I hate to run fast, because what if my thighs rub together so much that my underwear catches on fire? Running fast equals being severely uncomfortable, and I don’t have a high tolerance for uncomfortableness; this is why I hate the beach (sand in all the wrong places), the wind (totally blows), Nashville summers (sweaty misery), and hangnails (self-explanatory). But Paul and Josh gave me a pep talk as we jogged to warm up for a half a mile, and told me that they would run with me at whatever pace I set.

So we started. I ran fast – a lot faster than I am used to running. The first mile and a half were fine, but when we approached the 2 mile marker, it felt harder to breathe. All of my childhood memories of asthma and panic attacks came racing back, and in a terrifying instant, I found my windpipe closing off – a purely emotional reaction, since my legs were keeping up just fine. I felt the same alarm that I felt on Mt. Sneffels – I can’t breathe.

But Paul talked me down, and I finished the run, and Josh and Paul told me that I’m doing a great job. And although they could have abandoned me as soon as I started slacking with the training, they came back to get me and said, “We’re not letting you quit.” They stooped to my lesser level of fitness, and gave up what might have been a better workout for my sake. I don’t deserve friends like them.

But I’m so glad that I found them.

Thank you, Paul and Josh, for demonstrating grace in such a tangible way.

Misread, misheard, misspelled

On Facebook, sometimes users are required to type in a word to verify that one is indeed a human and not a cyborg or a hacker. It’s called a “captcha” – get it, like, “capture,” but all loosey-goosey and free-style? Say it with attitude – move your shoulders with each syllable. “Captcha.”

(You totally whispered it out loud, didn’t you? You sassy little devil.)

But I only just now realized that it’s pronounced “captcha”; when you read something over and over, but are never required to say it out loud, your brain can play tricks on you. And this whole time, in my head, I’ve been calling it a “captchka.” “Captchka” makes absolutely no sense – PLUS, with 5 consonants in a row, it’s almost impossible to pronounce. What was I thinking?

I have a little electronic key on my key-ring that unlocks certain doors at the office. When I included it in Friday’s video, I realized that I did not, in fact, know what it was called; you see my slight hesitation at 1:33. In my head, I have been calling it a “pre-farb,” which is quite possibly the ugliest word in the made-up English language*. But today I was set straight: it’s a “key fob.”

There’s an old Patty Loveless song with the line, “It gets melancholy.” Until very recently, I thought she was singing about “a kid-smellin’ collie” – which could have been right…?

There are words that slide comfortably into my written lexicon that I’ve discovered that I have to pause before pronouncing out loud: archetype, posthumous, banal, wan.

I have a new goal of being able to spell, with no hesitation, the following:
- coup d’état
- hors d’oeuvres
- onomatopoeia

*The ugliest word in the ACTUAL English language is “crotch.”

Because there was no other way to tie all this together

Churning Brain from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

Waterworks

We are 12 days away from the dreaded transition to digital TV – although it’s not so much of a “transition” as it is a “bitch slap.” A belly-flop straight into the lavas of hell.

No, I did not purchase a converter box. It’s not that worth it to me. But I will miss my morning news shows – because what better way to wake up than with Diane and Robin, Chris and Sam? I could always go downstairs to our gigantic television of ungodly proportions, the one that’s hooked up to the cable signal. But in the morning, I prefer watching my tiny screen in the privacy of my Princess Tower Bedroom – in which there is no cable cord.

I have 12 more days of bliss.

This morning, I flipped from “Good Morning America” (my favorite) to “The Today Show” (my not-as-favorite, but more-favorite than “The Early Show”) just in time to see this story about Patrick Thibodeau. I bawled my eyes out. Involuntary crying. Not just hot eyes – HUGE crocodile tears spilling down my cheeks. Some things are just like that for me – I cannot, no matter how hard I try, keep it together.

Other things I cannot watch without crying:
- The last 10 minutes of “Homeward Bound”
- The final scene in any inspirational Disney sports movie (“Remember the Titans,” “Miracle,” “The Rookie”)
- Any movie that ends in the wild-animal-become-pet being returned to the wild
- The Oprah episode in which she reunites the long-separated Rwandan family
- Kerri Strug sticking the landing
- And as much as it pains me to admit it... “MOVE! THAT! BUS!!”

- - - - - - -

And now – the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Drumroll, please…

And the winner is:



My 8th comment was left by hollyandmeagan, but who’s to say whether it was Holly or Meagan? Whichever one of you borrows her roommate/bestfriend/co-blogger’s underwear, get ready for a beautiful Valentine made by Anna Marie. You should probably give it to your roommate/bestfriend/co-blogger.

A title that fits

In a grand twist of events, I found myself dining last night at the Eastland Café with my two roommates, one of their mothers, and two strangers. I had the duck. I love duck.

The strangers quickly became friends. I fell in love with these women.

I heard their stories – what brought them to Nashville, what gives them joy, what they are learning at this stage in their lives. And in turn, they asked me insightful questions – ones that, when I answered, gave me a certain familiarity with myself that I didn’t have before.

Among other things, they asked me about my musical ambitions. I sighed, and told them what I have been thinking lately: I have been so tempted to just quit doing music. To “retire.” To stop frantically scrambling for ideas, and no longer have to answer the question, “So, do you have any shows coming up?” I’ve been discouraged, and creatively dry, and lacking inspiration. Nashville is a great place to enjoy music, but a daunting place to make it. Everyone is good. The mailman is good.

But, I know, I know. The comparison game is completely feckless and futile. I’m learning this. I may be slow, but I AM learning this.

And so I opened up with these women, and told them that I’ve quietly started work on an album – what will wind up being a 6-7 song EP. It’s my first “official” recording project beyond simple demos, and will take awhile to complete since it is self-funded. But the timing is right, and the cost is worth it to me.

I’ve been looking for “a reason” to make a record – a logical justification for it, like, “Oh, I’ll make some money,” or “Oh, this will help me get a publishing deal,” or “Oh, a CD will make me a legitimate songwriter.” But when it comes down to it, my main motivation is this:

I wrote some songs, and I think it’s time for them to be heard.

That’s all.

And in that moment, one of these women reiterated what my mom had said to me earlier in the day: “That makes you an artist.”

After all of my soul-searching and wheel-spinning and worrying that I don’t know what I am doing with my life. After months of despondency and sleepless nights. After a lack of direction, and a desire for definition. After a lot of prayers. I still don’t have all the answers, but…

Finally. A title that fits.

Stay tuned.

All you need is Love(+Luck)

When I was in third grade, I had a pseudo, almost, totally-not-but-kind-of-but-no-not-really full-blown crush on Dylan Schoo. He was so cute. He was so nice to me. He lived around the corner, and took piano lessons from my mom. And we were in the same class, consistently, all the way through elementary school – so when Valentine’s Day 1991 rolled around, deep down, I wanted to give him a special note.

I bought the box of “Beauty and the Beast” cards, and carefully sorted through, choosing the harmless gender-neutral ones for the boys that I didn’t care about, the cute lovey ones for my best friends, and finally, the perfect one for Dylan.

It featured Lumiere:



And it said “You make me want to sing!”

I wrote his name, and then signed my own.

But right before class, I chickened out. I couldn’t tell DYLAN that he made me want to SING. That is so EMBARRASSING! So I quickly scratched out “sing,” and replaced it with “puke.”

But wait! It gets better! Right before we were supposed to hand out our valentines, I felt bad. Because Dylan didn’t make me want to puke – I liked him! – and that was rude. So I scratched out “puke” and wrote “laugh.”

Nice and non-committal. Could be interpreted in a variety of ways, whichever would be most convenient for me at the time. “You make me want to laugh!” because I think you’re funny. “You make me want to laugh!” because you’re such an idiot. “You make me want to laugh!” because… will you marry me?

If you are looking for beautiful valentines to give to your loved ones in 11 days, my ultra-talented friend Anna Marie of Love+Luck Design has created some whimsical, handmade cards. And she, being such a wonderful giver, is offering a complimentary card to whoever wins MY CONTEST!

What is this contest, you ask?

Well, here it is. Leave a comment telling me about someone that you love or appreciate. Your husband. Your wife. Your nephew or niece. Your roommate. Your co-worker. Your crush-who-will-not-be-named. Your best friend. Your dog. The boy who scans your groceries at Whole Foods. Tell me a little something about them. And when the comments close tomorrow night, I will use the Random Integer Generator to choose which commenter wins the card.

Then I’ll put you in touch with cute Anna Marie, who will send you the card of your choosing!

And by the way, Dylan and I are still friends.

Poor

It is Monday morning, my weekly A-Z series is over, and I am left at a loss. What on EARTH am I supposed to do on Mondays now?

Well, I could always talk about money. Get excited.

I got my W-2 for 2008, and found out that I made a smaller amount of money than I thought possible to live on. I opened it up, and started laughing – but in a victorious way, because I LIVED!!! I totally survived on the most miniscule amount of money I’ve ever made – and I did it with style. I should publish my findings in a book: “How To Be Fabulous (While Utterly Destitute).” Actually, let me save you the reading, and save myself the writing, and just break it down into the basics:

1) To save on food: free sample dinners at the grocery store.
2) To save on toiletries: shower once every 3 days.
3) To save on car payments: drive a long-paid-off 19-year old car.
4) To save on entertainment: just go running instead.
5) To save on everything else: T.J. Maxx.

It’s tiring to be poor. But it’s kind of fun, right?

Right?

And now, I will spend the remainder of my day researching welfare.