uncomfortablog

Bob Dylan would never shoot the sheriff

2011-05-11T22:57:00.000-05:00

I have nothing to say.

Just thought I'd get that out there.

So....

If you keep reading past this line, that's on you man.

A couple of thoughts though -

I enjoy having friends that I am comfortable admitting things to. Things like...sometimes I get Bob Dylan and Bob Marley confused. Not because they are at all similar, but because I don't know who either of them are or anything about their body of work, but everybody else seems to know about them and their legend-ness. And they're both named Bob. So there's that.

I'm moving in 6 days. To a different city. Des Moines. Benefits: 1) I have a job there; 2) I have a boyfriend there; 3) This will provide many new opportunities to be uncomfortable, which may revive my blog and my general zesty-ness. Disbenefits: 1)There are fewer of my friends there; 2) There are fewer non-American restaurants there; 3)There is not here.

I'm hoping that moving and re-setting everything will help me to stop sucking like I have been for a little while now. Maybe I'll stop eating fried potatoes at every meal, and maybe I'll actually start doing interesting things again instead of watching re-runs of Glee every night. And maybe I'll learn how to distinguish between legendary musicians named Bob.

Honestly, I don't really know what to say about this whole moving thing. But it's happening, and soon. Like Bob said, The Times They are a-Jammin.

One night only! Cage fighting grandmas!

2011-03-06T21:25:00.008-06:00

Day 21 of 80

A quarter of the way through my 80 day countdown and going strong(ish)

Over the past days I've celebrated my countdown by going to a string quartet concert and a monologue festival, and having an article published in the Little Village magazine. But today's activity blew them all away: improv bingo.

Yes, that's right folks. It's bingo. It's improv comedy. All rolled into one! How, you ask? Well, you kinda had to be there. And you can be. Every first Sunday of the month at 7:30 at the Riverside. Check it out: Bingo Bedlam. Trust me, it'll soon be sweeping the nation.

Maybe this is just the beginning of combining activities for old people with stuff that people actually want to watch! Shuffle Board and Roller Derby? Knitting and Cage Fighting? It's all fun and games till somebody jams a knitting needle in your eye! That's when it gets awesome.

Everything's bigger in...ancient Iowa

2011-03-02T22:10:00.006-06:00

Day 17 of 80

Today on my lunch break I stopped by the Museum of Natural History in downtown Iowa City. It's just SITTING there next to my office all FREE and full of WEIRD stuff. Why am I not there all the time?

I'm not great at learning things at museums, but I do have this to say: everything was bigger thousands of years ago. whether it's the giant cockroaches in the iowa coal swamp diorama (diorama!), the giant terrifying fish that looks kind of like this guy:

or the giant sloth, aka Megalonyx, aka Max:

They don't actually call him Max, but clearly they should (Megalonyx...M.eg.A.lony.X). Or maybe Meg, cause I think it was reconstructed from the remains of a female...

Somehow I don't think this was what I was supposed to walk away thinking about. Maybe I should try again tomorrow.

Quakers and Swans

2011-02-28T23:51:00.004-06:00

Days 13-15 of 80

On Saturday some friends and I went to a small town quaker boarding school to play music for about 40 high school students, who sang along when we asked them to and were generally much more agreeable than any other group of 16 year olds in existence.

Then while the rest of you fools were on your couch watching the Oscars, I was in the lovely Englert theatre, watching men in swan costumes parade across the stage. It was Chris Okiishi's annual Oscar bash, which after 20 years has graduated from his living room to the silver screen, so to speak. Though the costumes and such were great, by far the best part of the night was that someone brought a huge tray full of thin mints (the best girl scout cookie ever). girl scout cookie season and halloween are my two vegan holidays, where all manner of thin mints and mini candy bars are allowed to grace my lips. yum.

And today? Today, I think I failed to meet my goal of doing one unique thing. It wasn't a great day, really. But some days are like that. Even in Australia.

Prisons, pita, and paul dano

2011-02-26T15:37:00.003-06:00

Days 9-12 of 80

This week I took advantage of my last 80 days of grad school by going to prison, eating falafel and playing the banjo with the Paul Dano Realization.

Pita!
Oasis Falafel is probably the best thing ever. I'd estimate that their hummus makes up approximately 20% of my diet.

Prison!
I went to the Oakdale prison with one of my classes. Despite my wily ways, I've never been to prison before, and I found the experience a little confusing. Not to be weird or anything, but that place seems pretty decked out. Just walking through the halls there, I saw guys playing volleyball, browsing the library, playing parcheesi, and a group of guys getting ready for band practice (with banjos!). I've seen high schools with fewer extracurriculars. I'm certainly not opposed to treating prisoners well and encouraging positive behaviors and all that, I was just not expecting it to look so laid back (though it probably is very structured in reality). I checked out their web-site for explanation and found this: "Offenders are sent to prison as punishment, not for punishment." Who knew prison administrators could be so fun loving?

Paul Dano!
I play music with some lovely ladies and we call ourselves the Paul Dano Realization. I'm hoping to start internet rumors about the origin of that name, but that will have to wait for another time. Last night we practiced for a show we're playing tonight for a bunch of high school students. More to come.

A flaw in the system...plus some sweating

2011-02-21T18:07:00.003-06:00

Days 5-8 of 80: Racquetball, writing, and Des Moines

My department in grad school is really into intramural sports, so this year I've been trying to pull my weight and have thus far tried by hand (and foot) at kickball, soccer, and mini-golf. Yesterday we started the racquetball tournament! And yesterday...we ended the racquetball tournament! Yes, we lost our first game and so that's it. But our opponents were entirely too young and enthusiastic. This is why I generally try to avoid engaging in strenuous activities with 18 year old men. It never leads to anything good.

And today, despite the fact that I was home sick all day, I finished writing an article for Iowa City's own Little Village magazine. I hope it's not lame.

And finally, the flaw:
I was in Des Moines all weekend, thus revealing a barrier to my enjoying one uniquely Iowa City/grad school-y thing per day. How can I enjoy Iowa City when I'm not even there half the weekends? I'll figure something out...

C is for cookie

2011-02-17T23:04:00.005-06:00

Day 4 of 80: That's good enough for me

On my top five list of non-human things I will miss when I leave Iowa City are the cookies at New Pioneer Co-op. Heck, let's just say all things at New Pioneer Co-op, but especially the cookies because they are delicious and vegan. To help you understand the extent of their deliciousness and my appreciation of them, I will share the following evidence:

1. When I was in D.C. this summer, Ernest sent me a cookie from the co-op for my birthday and it was far and away the best present I've ever gotten, even though it sat in my office over the weekend and was nearly a week old by the time I got to it.
2. I once dropped one on the wet ground outside the store and ate it anyway (and it was more than 5 seconds)
3. Today I was eating a new pioneer cookie while walking by my friend's office. I was going to stop by and say hi, but then I realized that in doing so I would be required to offer her a piece of said cookie because it's her favorite. And so...I just kept walking.

Late night, hold the coffee

2011-02-16T01:52:00.004-06:00

Day 2/3 of 80

Day 2 of attempting to embrace my grad-school-in-iowa-city life before it finally goes away.

Things have been better. I just spent the past 9 hours doing mind-numbing data reconfiguration, that was perhaps only necessary because of a failure of my imagination on how to manipulate the massive amounts of data. And I'm still not done. On the upside, what could be more uniquely grad school than staying up much much too late doing work that makes you doubt your abilities? Success!

I don't really do caffeine, so instead of downing espressos for my late night work session, I ate half a slice of chocolate cake 5 hours ago and I've been wide awake ever since. It's a little unorthodox, but life is much more delicious this way.

Say One Thing

2011-02-14T23:25:00.002-06:00

Day 1 of 80: The countdown begins

I went to see a FREE valentine's day movie at the ENGLERT today, with my second favorite valentine, GINA. Gina, the Englert, and free things, are all in abundance in Iowa City, but less so in other locales, so I've completed my promised task for the day.

The movie was Say Anything, which I've never seen before, and I will just say one thing: After all that build up over my whole life for the standing outside the window with the stereo over the head thing, THE defining image of 80s nostalgia, I can't believe she didn't even look out the freaking window! And how would she know without even looking that it was him? If i heard a Peter Gabriel song blasting outside my window, i would sure as hell check out where it was coming from instead of just lying on the bed crying.

80 days

2011-02-13T22:00:00.003-06:00

In 80 days I will once again be a contributing member of society. No longer will I be assumed incompetent, or be given advice normally reserved for socially dysfunctional pre-teens. Yes friends, in 80 days I will finish my work as a graduate student and the world will make sense again.

Graduate school does have its perks however. Like some days I don't have to put on pants, and that's kinda great. And it allowed me to stay two more years in a town I like with lots of lovely people. So for the next 80 days, I'm challenging myself to do something every day that I may not be able to do once I graduate. It might be something uniquely grad school-y, like working pant-less, or it might be something uniquely Iowa City.....(like working pant-less?).

Suggestions welcome.

p.s. - This had better be a more successful venture than the whole year-long working out project, at which you previously witnessed my failure. Turns out that the one thing less fun than working out, is writing about working out.

For the record, my yoga ventures are going rather well.

Exercise FAIL

2010-12-14T10:17:00.002-06:00

365 days of breakin' sweat: Day #whatever

I am totally failing at operation peng-a-leng (aka my goal to exercise consistently for 365 days)!! What do I do? It is winter and all I want to do is sit in my bed with 4 sweaters on and eat chocolate-coconut cookies. Apparently the shame of admitting failure to you all is not enough. Damn my unwavering self-acceptance!

Seriously, suggestions?

Do the Freddie

2010-11-20T06:52:00.004-06:00

365 days of breakin' a sweat: Day 96

I went to two group exercise activities this week. Yoga on Tuesday was surprisingly normal, but I still can't get over group aerobics classes (Friday's adventure). You spend an hour doing jumping jacks to techno versions of Madonna songs, and the instructor says things like "we've gotta work off a lot of calories to get ready for Thanksgiving!" And there's always one...one woman who comes to the class already having run a few miles, does crunches while everyone else is waiting for class to start, and actually yells back answers at the instructor when she says things like "how's everybody doin'?" (while everyone else just kind of grunts).

I did enjoy myself mostly, but by far the best part of yesterday's class was the fact that it reminded me of a very specific part of the movie Troop Beverly Hills. I hope you all remember this, but in case I need to remind you, about 40 seconds in to this clip, they do a little dance called "the freddie." When middle aged women do modified jumping jacks, it looks a LOT like that:

And while I'm at, I HAVE to share the original Freddie. This guy's got issues.

Raquetball

2010-11-14T15:20:00.002-06:00

Today David and I played raquetball. I won! It was kind of like this (I like to think I'm the one in white):

I definitely see more epic battles in our future. Now if only we can get the rec center to start carrying light-saber rackets.

As the French say....Um, I don't know I don't speak French

2010-11-12T06:17:00.003-06:00

I just read this book called "French Women Don't Get Fat," some woman's food memoir about growing up eating well in France. As you might guess from the title, this is not a great piece of literature (I skimmed most of it, and disagreed with 1/3 of it), but it did make me think about a few things, one of which is exercise.

She basically says that the French think we're nuts for going to the gym to "work out," or jogging through the park. She recommends, as many have before her, that it's far better and more appealing to just find more ways to be active all day long: take the stairs, bike to work, blah blah blah.

It sounds like a good idea, but here's the problem: I already do all that. And despite the fact that most days I walk or bike to work, go up three intense flights of stairs several times, and go for walks on my lunch break, I am still, by some standards (as we have seen on this blog), out of shape. My resting pulse is apparently in the "old man" zone and my arms are made of jelly. So what gives? Is it that I'm not doing enough? Or do we have inappropriate fitness standards? Since I've started my little fitness journey here, I've continually wrestled with whether riding my bike up that horrible hill on River street (uphill both ways) counts as my daily exercise. It sure as hell feels like it. Granted, I don't struggle with my weight, so in that respect maybe this author is right. But being thin doesn't mean you're healthy. I just can't figure out who gets to tell me if I AM healthy or not.

Thoughts?

p.s. - You may have noticed that this post is more indignant than usual, which is apparently what you get when you decide to update your blog at 6:30 in the morning. Interesting.

Just Doe It

2010-11-02T20:41:00.010-05:00

Let's face it. Running sucks. You know it. I know it. Yet somehow so many of us still do it. Sure, there are those weirdos who claim to get "addicted" to running (I've never had a very addictive personality) but a lot of us non-addicts suffer through simply because it's the easiest way we know to exercise. We all know it's idiotic, but sometimes, like today, an outside perspective makes us realize just how strange this torture is.

Today I shed my typical running route for a jaunt up the steep and winding stairs of death leading to the nearby elementary school (why there isn't a pile of children's bones at the bottom, I'll never know). I whipped through the playground, hurdling fences and teeter-totters, and headed down a dead end street. As I looped around the end and planned my next move, I noticed a couple of deer looking my way. At first I thought they were just tacky statues or disturbing hunting paraphernalia, but then their eyes caught me. They were staring straight at me. Staring. Not scared or quivering. Just staring, as in disbelief.

"What on earth are you doing, you strange creature?" they seemed to ask, as I slowly crawled to a stop. I turned slightly to stare back. My foot crunched against a leaf and they shifted, as if to leave. But they didn't. They wanted an answer. What the hell am I doing?

"That's a very good question," I told them, as I turned and headed straight home.

Bringing sexy back

2010-10-31T21:21:00.003-05:00

I am a terrible blogger. But I am a slightly less terrible exerciser. Since my last update a month ago, I have indeed moved my ass on a semi-regular basis. Some of the most interesting:

Line dancing!
Gina and I went to the line dancing class at the rec center. Among the grapevines and triple-steps, we also learned that these people are very serious about line dancing. Not only have some of them been coming to this class for the past 15 years, but they get together 3 or 4 times a week to dance or just hang out. I guess something about a good heel grind fosters intense bonding. BTW, line-dancing is actually a decent workout if you've got the right enthusiasm.

Because of my life's goal to learn how to do everything, I frequently find myself as a visitor of various classes, meetings and/or celebrations such as these. I've noticed that those present often talk to me as if my attendance that day is some sort of major life choice. It's hard to describe, but they say things like, "What made you decide to start coming to ____?" and "Oh, it's tricky at the beginning, but in a few years you'll be able to..." Maybe I'm weird, but I find it strange that no one ever thinks I'm just there to see what it's about, learn a few things, or simply to have something to do that night. Everyone probably assumes that no reasonable person would put themselves through the awkward embarrassment of trying something new in an unknown environment full of strangers unless they're expecting some long term reward. Perhaps they have a point, but I do so enjoy being unreasonable.

Yoga, transcontinental style
My friend McKinze (who's currently in the PeaceCorps in Georgia) set out on a mission to do yoga every day of the month in October and put out a call on her blog for folks to join her. I did a pretty good job of keeping up, though my yoga basically consisted of a whole bunch of sun salutations. I recommend it. Let me hear you say "om!"

We're number 5!
We finished out our soccer days today as number 5 out of 8 in the league. We ended with 3 wins and 2 ties, and are carefully ignoring the fact that two of the wins were the result of only 3 people showing up for the opposing team.

Step it up
Having now attempted to defend my month-long lapse in sweat-breakin' documentation, I will say that October was questionable in terms of true exercise commitment. Don't worry though, I'm bringing it back. I'll be sexier than a line-dancing yogi in no time.

Does falling off the wagon count as exercise?

2010-09-27T23:56:00.004-05:00

365 days of breakin' a sweat: Day 42

Crisis! It's been one week since I have legitimately exercised. What have I done? My life is a lie!

Or maybe not. Have I just overlooked the more subtle forms of exercise? Let's brainstorm. Perhaps we can find significant physical activity in the events of last week:

Tuesday:
Paced vigorously as my flight to DC was delayed, then changed, then delayed again due to a dis-functional toilet seat

Wednesday:
Held legs together with a vice grip while sitting in the front row of a conference in an inappropriately short dress

Thursday:
Supressed vomit during Secretary Tom Vilsack's speech on small towns as the keepers of true American values.

Friday:
Hung out with very tall friend (standing on your toes really works those calves).

Saturday:
Uh, baking cookies? Or maybe it was the three hour nap.

Sunday:
Chasing that wagon I fell off of....

Never fear, I shall redeem myself! Tomorrow's activity will more than make up for my lapse. Because tomorrow, my friends, we line dance.

Yeehaw!

Numbers Lie and Soccer Disfigures

2010-09-20T21:56:00.004-05:00

365 Days of breakin' a sweat: Day 35

Month 1 Fitness Test!

Resting Heart Rate - Below Average
77 beats per minute (Down from 85)

Aerobic Fitness - Poor
Distance I can run in 12 minutes: 1.2 miles ("Up" from 1.15 miles.)

Abdominal, Upper Body, and "Explosive Power" - All still at average.

Leg Strength - Excellent (Up from "good".)

Flexibility - Good (no change)

BMI - Normal (no change)

Ok, so this is not quite the dramatic change you were looking for (this would never fly with Jillian). Although the numbers fail to show it, I'm feeling much more fit than I was a month ago.

Soccer update!

It was a rather violent match yesterday, with one very very bloody (possibly broken) nose, a split lip, and a red card for the opposing team (unrelated to injuries). But we had our first win! This is the right trajectory: Week 1 - Loss. Week 2 - Tie. Week 3 - Win! 5 more weeks to go. It all builds up to our last regular season game against my boyfriend's team. If his team's previous games are any indication, we will either lose by 10, or forfeit at the half. Ah, what a great way to go out.

Diva on the field

2010-09-13T21:37:00.003-05:00

365 days of breakin' a sweat: Day 28

Soccer game number two was slightly less painful both physically and emotionally. I perhaps got a little too comfortable when I ran on for the second half with my giant sunglasses on and didn't notice until about 5 minutes in. "I just figured you were revealing your diva side," one of my teammates quipped as I chucked the glasses off field.

Even better was afterward when I went directly to the Carnival Hearts and Arts Festival in Happy Hollow Park, walked into the middle of the action, fell dramatically onto a blanket next to gina and nick, flopped over on my back and yelled "i had to play soccer against men!", and started stretching in such a way as to periodically reveal my underwear, yet was delighted to find that I was by no means exhibiting the strangest public behavior. Why would anyone look at my small broken self, when they could be watching the man in the flowery dress jumping around and screaming out a song to the tune of 4 odd percussionists banging on jagged scraps of metal as they run along behind him in a circle that unites us all forever?

Oh Iowa City. You always find a way to outdo me.

Let's get physical, ya'll

2010-09-10T13:03:00.003-05:00

365 days of breakin' a sweat: Day 25

We're only 1 week away from the moment of truth: the first test of my fitness progress. You may recall that the initial test didn't go very well, and I'm skeptical that the 1-month mark will be any different. Case in point: my run yesterday. I started off down River street, deciding that I would run at a study pace with occasional bursts of speed (runners have a stupid name for this practice, which I refuse to use here). It was actually kind of fun, until about mile 2, when I thought my left thigh was going to rip in half (apparently I really did hurt myself in soccer on sunday).

In other news, I found out that they teach line dancing at the IC rec center on tuesday nights (7:15-9; through December 14; $4 per person). Yeehaw! I even got my roommate to say he'll come with me. I just hope I can dance as fancily as this lady. Her technique is sort of how I imagine they'd teach line dancing on the set of an Olivia Newton-John music video.

Fútbol

2010-09-06T18:32:00.006-05:00

365 days of breakin' a sweat
Day 21

The last time I played soccer was against 16 year old girls, so imagine my surprise when, a decade later, I am being run down by a 30 year old man about as wide as my roommate's big-screen tv. Within the first 2 minutes of the game I am injured and winded, regretting the 20 minute warm up that took all my energy. I'm not alone in my distress. My fellow team-mates are calling for subs every 5 minutes (I make it about 4 minutes).

As the game progresses, some of my team seems to be slowly remembering how this all works, picking up the pace and making a few quick dashes toward the goal. I'm having some familiar feelings myself. Around the last 10 minutes I start to flashback to my long ago high school soccer days. It's faint, but growing. That feeling of the end of the game, where the stakes are rising and the intensity grows and you start to think.....dear god, i don't care anymore, just get this over with already.

What? Was that just me? Hm, maybe that's why I never went pro. That's probably also why I get really bored at those movies where the main characters are in a fight for survival the whole time. After they've defeated the army of zombie robots, escaped from the exploding volcano, jumped the mississippi in a hatchback, and in the end still find themselves locked to a cursed mummy in a crumbling cave, I'm always the one at the back of theatre thinking: seriously, why don't they just give up already? Nothing is worth this.

Kickball!!

2010-09-02T22:52:00.006-05:00

365 Days of Breakin' a Sweat: Day 17

Yes! I played kickball yesterday. You see, for the past several years, my grad program has managed to be the "co-rec all-university intramural champions" at the U of I, winning by large orders of magnitude (as in, last year my program team had 783 points and the second place team had 428). They achieve this sacred title not by winning any of the individual sports, but by sheer force of participation in everything. Mini-golf, billiards, darts, dodgeball, badminton, kickball: you name it, and someone in my program will do it. (perhaps this does not bode well for the rigour of our program...)

Though we lost immediately in yesterday's season opener, we literally got points for trying. And we got ample entertainment, like when some guy on the other team kicked a ball directly into his teammates' face at full force, and the ref started searching desperately through his rule book to see what the protocol was for this particular situation. The injured party ran over to help in the search, vastly more interested in the result of the play than the fate of his slowly swelling face.

Though we never found the official answer, in classic playground style, we all agreed on a "do-over."

Are you tough enough?

2010-08-31T22:18:00.003-05:00

365 days of breakin' a sweat: Day 15

Today I went to a class at the new UI rec center called "boot camp." I'll admit, I was moderately scared at the overzealous description telling me that I WILL work and I WILL sweat and I WILL etc. etc. etc. like CRAZY!!!

This description was not entirely inaccurate. Yet, no matter how "hard core" these classes bill themselves as, it's interesting that there are NEVER any men there. There are certainly a full range of women, from people that seem unsure how to do a jumping jack to the jacked woman in the front row that does everything double time. But NO men. I can't really figure this out, considering there isn't much inherently feminine about doing 100 squats in 3 minutes. Maybe it's the peppy music. Or maybe they just don't like taking orders from women in spandex.

My other recent fitness adventures, however, have all involved the company of men, including moving furniture into my bf's new apartment and running around the park with my roommate.

Tomorrow: Schoolyard fun.

Sweaty is the new sexy

2010-08-26T21:00:00.003-05:00

365 days of breakin' a sweat.
Day 10

You can try running, biking, or all the aerobic latin-fusion dance classes in the world, but nothing gets your heart pounding like trying to look hot.

I got an e-mail from Victoria Secret announcing their new "sexy sport" clothing line. I find this baffling. We work out so that we can be hot. Not the other way around.

From what I can tell, the thing that's making this sportswear particularly "sexy" is the fact that she's wearing heels. Sprained ankles are so hot right now. And that open-mouthed, confused look on her face really sells her as an athlete. Reminds me of a boxer sporting a sexy new concussion.

Meanwhile, my unsexy workouts continue:
Monday - Running (2 miles)
Tuesday - Yoga
Wednesday - Muscle time: Abs/Triceps/Shoulders
Today - Walking like a champ: half way to work, tour of IC neighborhood during work, to school, to Happy Hollow Park for picnic. Total: 3 miles!

Zumba!

2010-08-21T19:21:00.000-05:00

Operation Peng-a-leng is officially underway. Phase 1: group exercise.

The workout(s):
1. Zumba. Tuesdays at noon. University of Iowa Fieldhouse (or pretty much anywhere in the county)
2. Cardio/Ab Blast. Saturdays at 10. University of Iowa CRWC.

I'd forgotten how hilarious group exercise classes are. You've got the totally ripped instructor, with her tan exposed midriff, blond ponytail, and unending pep. And then you've got you and your fellow underlings hiding behind her, looking like this:

You find yourself hoping that your poor Zumba instructor will somehow make it through the class without glancing over her shoulder to see you mauling the merengue or convulsing in a failed body roll.

Zumba is a latin-esque dance fitness program, and is apparently gaining quite the following. From what I can tell, they throw some salsa steps together with some power squats and a whole lot of high energy, faux latin tunes that randomly have people yelling "zumba" in the background (or pop songs that tell you to "shake it", as in the above). All in all I think it works out ok.

I followed up my Zumba class on Thursday with a more standard cardio/ab class this morning, in which I nearly sprained my ankle and discovered muscles I was previously unaware of.

Verdict:
On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being hell on earth, and 10 being my dream workout)
Zumba - 6.5
Cardio/Ab Blast - 5

Comments:
Anybody else out there tried Zumba? Any thoughts on group exercise in general? Yay/nay/no way?

Next week:
PUMP it up

Out of shape, out of mind

2010-08-18T22:00:00.006-05:00

In my first step toward physical enlightenment (see previous post), I decided to assess my current state. The results were not pretty. I found a website that ranked the results of various fitness tests in categories of "poor", "average", "good" and "excellent." In the spirit of maximizing my own embarrassment, here are my results, listed from worst to not-so-worst.

Resting Heart Rate - Poor
85 beats per minute

Aerobic Fitness - Poor
Distance I can run in 12 minutes: 1.15 miles

Explosive Power - Average
Distance I can jump straight into the air: 11 inches

Abdominal - Average
Number of situps I can do in a minute: 24

Upper Body - Average
Number of 3/4 pushups (known to non-feminist-types as "girl pushups") I can do in a minute: 19

Leg Strength - Good
Number of seconds I can hold a wall squat: 45

Flexibility - Good
Sitting down with feet flat against the wall, I can touch my fingertips to the wall (the goal is to rest your palms against it)

BMI - Normal

Overall Fitness Grade: C-

Ok, so I'm not exactly about to collapse in a heap of putty, but you wouldn't want to start placing bets on me either. The internet also made sure to let me know that my abysmal pulse rate puts me at 3 times the risk of a heart attack. Since when is the internet such a downer?

I'll be testing myself every month to track my progress. But for now I'm hoping tomorrow's Zumba class will beef up my poor, overworked heart...and, of course, make me super cool like these people:

Turn the beat around

2010-08-17T09:45:00.002-05:00

I'm feeling like my uncomfortable moments no longer have potential as amusing anecdotes. These days it's more along the lines of "Oh no, I'm an adult. Expectations are rising in both my personal and professional lives. What do I do?" Lame. I know you all don't want to hear about that. So I have a new thought for my blog!

One of my recently adopted life goals is to actually exercise consistently for an entire year. And what's more awkward and uncomfortable than new fitness routines? I'm thinking that a chronicle of my search for the perfect workout is in order. Think of all the potential embarrassment to be had through the following activities:

Jazzercise
Belly Dance
Kickboxing
Raquetball
Weight-training (braving the big muscly 18-year-olds that monopolize the weight room)
Biking
CY-YO (half cycling, half yoga)
Zumba
Aqua Aerobics
Regular Aerobics
Yoga
Pilates
Yogalates
Learning how to become an aerobics instructor
Rowing on the Iowa River (I could be a good coxswain!)
Ice skating
Cross Country Skiing
Sledding (it counts!)
Rock Climbing
Hiking
Rollerskating
Golf
Power walking
Wii Fit
Disc Golf
Jumping Rope (why not?)
Competitive Hula hooping
Playing on a playground
Basketball
Canoeing
Modern Dance
Pole dancing
Bicycling
Swimming
Running/Jogging
Tennis
Dance Dance Revolution
Square Dancing
Bowling (aerobic bowling?)

In addition to updating you with my missteps, miskicks, mis-pole-mountings and what I'm sure will be a number of near-drownings, I can also pass on exciting information you've all been waiting to know, like: who has the best Zumba class in town?

But first, it's input time: What should I add to the list? What should I do first?

Children, like fireworks, are best ignited one at a time

2010-07-09T11:35:00.000-05:00

Discovery! While browsing the archives of my computer, I found that I had written a post last year on July 4th and somehow never put it up. I know I'm a little late for the holiday, but I couldn't deprive you, so here:

Today’s discomfort: Maternal instinct misfire

One on one, I’ll admit children are pretty entertaining. And babies? Forget about it. I’m sold. But put children in groups of two or three, and I start to die a little inside. They jabber to each other. They create preposterous imaginary worlds. They pinch and poke and cry. And when they watch 4th of July fireworks, they clap and yell “yay!” after every. single. firework. The cheers of my sibling’s children are so loud, I can’t see. After about 10 minutes I give up, go inside, and eat half a bag of BBQ potato chips. Because something about the sound of childhood glee is apparently repulsive to me. And makes me crave salt.

Secret's Out

2010-06-29T20:51:00.003-05:00

Clearly I haven't gotten over my Mennonite heritage, because I still can't quite handle going to Victoria Secret. Sure, you could argue that everybody needs bras and underwear and sure, there's nothing really wrong with wanting your undergarments to be purple or silky or perhaps made of nothing more than string and spit. But honestly, what woman actually thinks it's practical to spend $12.50 on a pair of underwear*? $12.50! I could buy 3 burritos with that.

Who do you think you're kidding fellow shoppers? We all know why you're here. As I wander the aisles, wondering who decided that zebra print goes with well with everything, I can't help but imagine how much more interesting it would be if people said what they were really thinking:

Store clerk: Can I help you ma'am?
Customer: Yes...I'm afraid that I'm no longer attractive to my husband and will soon be wrinkled and dead. Could you please show me your most unreasonable lingerie?

Or

Customer 2: Hmmm...no one ever really sees my white cotton Hanes, but maybe if I buy this leopard thong, the sexual magnetism will shine through and I'll be suddenly irresistible to men.

Or maybe

Customer 3: I hate all breasts and want them to die. Ah ha! This wire mesh push-up bra will teach them a thing or two. Take that ya stupid milk-makers.

Honestly, I can't think of what else would be possessing so many people to pay a bazillion dollars for things that (we hope) a very small number of people will see. Don't you think your husband/boyfriend/girlfriend would be happier if you just gave them a 100 bucks instead? I know I would.

*In full disclosure, though I went to the store to buy my favorite grapefruit-scented body spray, I somehow found myself coming home with purple underwear as well. Seriously, what is it about that place?

168 hours: the horrible truth

2010-06-25T20:21:00.006-05:00

You may know that I'm a little bit obsessed with self improvement. Granted, I usually spend a lot more time planning the ways to be a fabulously interesting and efficient person than actually doing those things. But, really, who has the time to do things, what with all that pondering to be done about self improvement?

I bought a book yesterday called "168 hours," which is intended to open your eyes to how much time you really have each week (168 hours to be exact). It tells you to keep a time diary to find out where all that time is really going. I've done this for work before, but never my personal life.

I'd like to go ahead and advise you all NEVER to do such a thing. I started out this morning, and was faced with the following harsh reality:

6:01 a.m. - Wake up from an intense need to pee. Force self back asleep.
6:07 a.m. - Wake up again in much pain. Again, too lazy.
6:21 a.m. - Finally get up for the bathroom. Return to bed.
8:25 a.m. - Turn off alarm for 5th time. Go back to sleep.
9:31 a.m. - Get up and read about making better use of my time...
10:02 a.m. - Shower.
10:34 a.m. - Stare at burn scar on arm.
10:36 a.m. - Wonder if I've gained weight since 3 days ago.
10:37 a.m. - Still in a towel, get on Plans (my alma mater's message board) and read lengthy personal details about the divorce of someone I have never met.
10:48 a.m. - Yet unclothed, roll a pencil up and down bare stomach, watching as it displaces the squishy parts.
10:57 a.m. - Decide that time diaries are best not done on one's morning off.
10:58 a.m. - Continue day in similar fashion....

Tourism and mental disfunction, the perfect pairing

2010-06-19T21:18:00.004-05:00

Sometimes when I'm walking home from work, I look up ahead and think something terrible has happened. Then as I get closer, I realize it's just a huddle of tourists staring at a patch of sidewalk or into the sky, looking shocked and concerned.

I'm a live-in tourist in DC for the summer. So far I've gone to art galleries, museums, outdoor concerts, shopping districts, barack obama's house, etc. And I have to say, I'm not too impressed. Mostly, my experiences here involve:

-excessive time on internet finding activities and how to get there
-riding the bus for 45 minutes, usually next to muttering homeless man
-maneuvering through a hot and tired crowd looking for a place to sit/enter the attraction
-finally deciding it's not worth it, buying a giant soft pretzel and sitting on a park bench instead

Other people don't seem to mind all this hassle, a fact which has always baffled me. But I think I've finally figured out why being a tourist is simply never worth it to me. To explain, a story:

This one time I was at a party and someone asked about a concert that had recently been in town. "Oh, I went to that" I exclaimed happily, proceeding to describe the scene in some detail. A friend who was in earshot later said she was surprised to hear me say I'd been there, since she had invited me to go with her and I'd told her I was out of town. It was then I realized that I had never gone to the concert. I had been so upset about missing it that, to diminish my disappointment, I had tried to imagine what it would have been like. As my imaginings marinated in the back of my head for the next few weeks, my brain suddenly began to accept them as truth. Genius! I had the full memory of a kick-ass concert, with no expense or inconvenience to myself.

So now, whether I'm faced with the prospect of standing in line for 45 minutes to see the constitution, or roughin it at an Italian hostel for the sake of checking out the sistine chapel, I often pass. I don't need a 747 or a subway to get to the world's wonders. With just the right amount of time and a few vivid photos, my brain will get me there soon enough.

Was that an earthquake, or did you just rock my world?

2010-06-16T19:27:00.004-05:00

Sometimes the line between town and city is a bit blurry. But the way I always know that I've crossed that line is when men on the street start giving me unprompted compliments. Talk all you want about professional sports teams, symphonies, or ethnic restaurants, but public exaltation of one's appearance by homeless men is the true sign of a bustling city.

Usually these compliments are pretty unimaginative, and run along the lines of: you lookin' good/fine/sexy. But I've also gotten the slightly more descriptive, such as: he's a lucky man, you got it goin' on, or i don't need no legs to love you baby. One's typical reaction is an eye-roll, a laugh, or a scoff, depending on the mood of the hour. But today on my way home, I got one that I must admit I really liked: smooth. Just that. Just 'smooth.'

I continued home, feeling rather pleased with myself, only to be brought back to the reality of my situation. As I walked through my lovely neighborhood....oh wait, sarcasm doesn't always translate in type....as I walked through my dilapidated, gray neighborhood, a man followed me for about a block, engaging in a passionate tirade aimed in my general direction. I won't bore you with his ramblings, but I can only guess that he has some sort of personal objection to yoga pants. I can hardly blame him, really.

Ah, the city giveth, and the city taketh away.

Fed lessons

2010-05-25T22:15:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: Long walk home

Things learned in D.C. thus far:

1. There are still influential people in this world that don't use computers/e-mail. Case in point: Ralph Nader. Also, my boss.
2. People actually walk into the church of scientology in broad daylight.
3. The show "glee" is best watched with a group of pre-school educators in a gay sports bar.
4. There is a National Church Ushers Association. Apparently, walking up and down a church aisle and handing off a collection plate requires nationally-developed training.
5. I make better vegan cupcakes than the "best bakery" in D.C.
6. If I sit outside my apartment and squint really hard, I can actually see gentrification happening.

Which brings me to my uncomfortable theme of the day: personal safety. Most neighborhoods in D.C. are a little spotty, and mine is no exception. Apparently, until a few years ago, wandering through this neighborhood was ill advised. It's better now, but not completely. My apartment is on a busy north/south street, but whenever I need to get groceries, attend usher training, etc., I have to meander east through one of the side streets. I've tried just about every street within a quarter mile, and they're all a little sketch. Whether it's a dozen security cameras surrounding a beat up apartment building, or a gaggle of police cars hanging out in an alley, there's always some kind of sign that this isn't quite where a small Iowa girl wants to be.

Relatedly, the Lorin Ditzler cab fund accepts donations of cash, check, or homemade cupcakes.

Mexico, part 1

2010-04-02T11:48:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: Buenos dias (or is it buenas?)

I went to Mexico for spring break to work on an economic development project for class. I was a little skeptical about how we would communicate with our friends to the south, considering that no one in our group except me speaks spanish. And when I say I "speak" spanish, I use that term lightly. Sometimes spanish words come out of my mouth. Sometimes I even manage to conjugate verbs. But overall my grammer is frightening. I knew I needed to practice before we left, but I could not bring myself to open my mouth with the numerous people who tried to help me out. (oh yeah, have i mentioned that my boyfriend is a spanish translator? might have been wise to make use of that...)

So when we went down there, I would try to ask people things like "If you could change one thing about your town, what would it be?" But for the first few days at least, it typically came out something more like "If they will transform a thing in the urban, what was those?"

Fortunately, we managed to recruit some real translators to help do interviews, and my spanish got a little better as the week went on. I even did a few interviews on my own by the end of the trip. I was now feeling moderately confident with my ability to communicate basic needs, and had totally lost my self consciousness about my atrocious grammer. I was excited to come back and continue building my language skills with aforementioned boyfriend.

So Lorin, you might be asking, how's your new bilingual relationship going? Hmmm...funny you should mention that. Apparently I can only speak spanish on foreign soil. Maybe there's something in the water down there (besides parasites) that makes the words flow better? Or maybe I just don't want to try to say: "Hey baby, you lookin' good" and accidentally say "Hello female child, you are searching for welfare."

Om, take 2

2010-02-01T22:16:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I went to this "lecture" about transcendental meditation. Or, as my friend Julia called it, a live infomercial. You see, I'd been getting this idea in my head lately that I should be more of a crazy hippie. I fought it all those years at Grinnell, but maybe it's time to give in. Let's look at the symptoms shall we?

1. I've got the vegan thing going on.
2. I'm pretty liberal.
3. I'm starting to shower less and less.
4. Over the past few days in particular I've been freaking out about my carbon footprint (I took this test that said that if everyone lived like me we would need 3.4 earths).
5. I can't stop thinking about flooding in Bangladesh and am continually bringing up the subject at parties.

I figured soft music and pastel colors were the next step. So I went to this meditative infomercial and was pretty damn convinced actually. That is, until they gave me the price tag.

$1500. Exsqueeze me? Oh but wait, since you're a student, you only pay half price (ok, still twice my rent) and if you act in the next two weeks, you can get it for only half that price. Operators are standing by! Order in the next 3 minutes and you'll get the Messermeister Julienne Swivel Peeler absolutely free!

I wish I could say that I came to my senses immediately and snuck out the back, but alas I stayed. I even took an application. It's got this picture of an old, grey haired, bearded indian man, so you can tell it's legit.

Will Lorin join the wannabe cult? Only time will tell. The attractions of hippie-dom get very strong under the new moon.

I think my cat knows your nephew's girlfriend

2009-12-13T14:45:00.003-06:00

Today's discomfort: Strangers with no candy

I rarely get embarrassed. Just about the only things that do get me embarrassed revolve around judgment from complete strangers. For example:
1. When I find myself involved in a loud conversation in public about something inappropriate, (like multiple orgasms, or poo) or something really mundane (like socks)
2. When people I'm with awkwardly approach strangers to ask them about something they think they may have in common (like that their ponies both have alopecia).

I guess I don't want people to think I'm vulgar, boring, or creepy. The weird thing is, I frequently seek out friends who specialize in creating the situations described above. Case(s) in point - Alok S., Amy M., and most recently, the new boyfriend.

Last night, the two of us went to a concert at the Mill, and in the course of a few hours, we/he:
- Talked loudly and extensively about pants
- Talked briefly about sex
- Had an overly personal conversation with the waiter
- Approached two different strangers about: 1. Being neighbors with Ernest's best friend from middle school; 2. Having once accidentally sworn at said stranger in a coffee shop
- Advised a third stranger to dress up in animal costumes on a daily basis

None of the above strangers offered us candy and/or a ride, so I think we were pretty safe. But it just further reinforced my theory that deep down, all I really want in life is to be a little bit uncomfortable.

My bus smells like plastic and sounds like China

2009-12-10T21:38:00.003-06:00

Today's discomfort: Naiveté

This rambling is posted in honor of procrastination for my final paper of the semester...

I have a confession to make. And it's not an easy one. It's utterly shameful, considering my choice of life pursuits, but....I've never ridden a city bus. Never. Until a couple of weeks ago, I'd never even ridden the free campus bus that galavants around Iowa City. Now that it's too cold to bike, I'm a regular on said bus, and I have the following to report:

- In the span of two weeks, I have taken the wrong bus 3 times.
- I rarely hear any conversations that are not in Chinese
- There has been only one day in which I have not had to run to catch the bus
- I am continually amazed by the fact that someone will come pick me up and transport me in warmth and ease to my destination.

Public transit. Who knew?

Oh right, thousands of people. Thousands of people who don't claim (as I do) to be interested in studying how cities work and how we should improve our transportation systems. I need to get with the program here. What other critical urban challenges do I have zero experience with? Oh, you know just a few minor things like: living in poverty; affordable housing; living in a city larger than 100,000; commuting farther than 1 mile; owning property. Who am I kidding with this whole "urban planning" degree? Here's a plan for you kiddo: be a real person.

When I say post, you say communist

2009-12-02T19:48:00.003-06:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day(ish), a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: Let's not talk about it

Ok, so I'm super behind on the novel. In fact, I haven't written anything at all for a solid 2 weeks. But I think that I should be forgiven for two reasons:

1. It's cold and I don't want to do things
2. I've been spending the majority of my time learning about Bucharest and why it's been having a bit of an identity crisis since the fall of communism. This is in preparation for something that will make me very uncomfortable (look at the title of the blog folks....I think I get credit for this).

On Friday I'm part of a conference where I'll be giving a presentation about Bucharest and urban identity, which should be interesting considering that a month ago I wasn't really sure where Bucharest was (even though I've been there before.) I also didn't know anything about European history, like the purpose of world war I (still don't really get that actually) and what was that whole thing about communism again? Something to do with blocks? And what is this "European Union" you speak of?

So we'll see. I'm basically concluding that there are multiple unresolved contradictions in Bucharest's people, history and built environment, that make it difficult to push the urban identity desired by those in power. And you can never really go wrong when you basically say: Oh, you see this really complicated thing I've introduced here....um, it's really complicated. You know, like contradictory and stuff. Cause of the communists.... Yeah, that's right. The communists. Always blame the communists.

Day 48: Life according to Merriam Webster

2009-11-17T22:38:00.004-06:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day(ish), a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word Count: somewhere between 18 and 19,000 of 50,000

I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. I'm giving you a few more than 91 words today, because really, I shouldn't be allowed to count most of these:

"Angie is reading from the dictionary again.

Parsnip: a Eurasian biennial herb (Pastinaca sativa) of the carrot family with large pinnate leaves and yellow flowers that is cultivated for its long tapered edible root which is cooked as a vegetable; also : the root

This seems like an unnecessarily specific description of the weird looking vegetable sitting on her counter. Perhaps could more easily defined as: object which will slowly rot in Angie’s cupboard. She looks around the kitchen for something else to define.

Bastard:
1 : an illegitimate child
2: something that is spurious, irregular, inferior, or of questionable origin
3 a : an offensive or disagreeable person —used as a generalized term of abuse b : man, fellow

bas·tard·ly adjective

Hm. Bastardly. Angie hadn’t thought of that. This could come in handy, assuming that bastardly creature on the floor ever woke up from its Keystone-Light-induced slumber. Bastardly. Yeah. Something about that seemed to sweeten her tongue a bit."

Day 46: Out, damned spot

2009-11-15T20:55:00.003-06:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day(ish), a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word Count: 18,085 of 50,000

"...sitting up, attempting to wipe the blood off with a dirty hand and the collar of an already stained white shirt. “You need ice or something,” Mauri asks. The kid looks up and squints, then stares back down at the blood on his hands. “Well get back on your row then,” Mauri yells over his shoulder as he heads back toward the field. The dry spring meant the season would go even later this year. Mauri trails behind the crew, tugging a little too hard on the tassels they’d left behind."

Day 45: One of these things is not like the other...

2009-11-14T15:29:00.002-06:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day(ish), a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: not enough of 50,000

Sometimes when I'm simaltaneously writing a novel about myself and a memo about highway congestion pricing, I find it interesting to compare the two side by side. For example, today I wrote both of the following 91 word excerpts. I'll let you decide which is which.

"In southern California, a 1993 HOT lane experiment on SR 91 showed reduced commuting times in both HOT and general use lanes, with increased number of travelers participating in ridesharing (Downs, Fielding, Poole). HOT lanes remained uncongested during peak times, due to dynamic pricing.

In Washington, a HOV to HOT lane conversion was implemented after finding HOV lanes drastically underused. Post conversion, general purpose lane speed increased 10%, while HOT lanes increased 7-8%, achieving a minimum speed of 45mps 99.2% of the time. Transit ridership increased by 16% and average tolls..."

compared to this:

"...only problem was what came next: puppies. Unable to care for the constantly arriving litters, the farm mentality prevailed. Unwanted animals, be they chickens, cows, or puppies, are disposed of one way or another. Every few months, Mauri’s dad would leave the house with just one sentence of direction: “When I come home tonight, there will be one dog at this house.” No explanation. No eye contact. Just “one dog.” And then he was gone.

Mauri had discovered that summer that there was no humane way to kill a puppy..."

Day 43: Fate and Detasseling in Newman Illinois

2009-11-12T20:58:00.003-06:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day(ish), a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word Count: 16,264 of 50,000 (behind!)

"...some disappeared, only to be found decaying under a bottle somewhere. Others ran off to Champaign, where they had a mall and a Bob Evans, or flung themselves further, to the places for which these small towns were named: Paris, Brazil, Milan (“My-len,” to the locals)

But for now they were all the same. Kids in a dark parking lot. Waiting, staring into space, crashing shopping carts together. Or three hours later, kids in a hot, dry field. Swearing, whining, peeing on the corn stalks, and every now and then, doing their job."

Day 40: the tao of smoking goat

2009-11-09T21:48:00.004-06:00

Did you miss me? Of course you did. Back to the novel.

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day(ish), a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: oh...thousands...

"There he was, this fascinating high school boy. Long brown hair. Far off looks. Failing grades. Always carrying a copy of something with the words “dao” or “marx” on it. Never wore anything that fit, or that had ever been in a store under florescent lighting. Reportedly once slaughtered a goat on school property while smoking a joint. Angie was never sure when she heard that story whether Mark was the one smoking, or the goat. She liked to imagine it was both.

And now he was staring at her. Waiting."

Novel tip #1,207 - When all else fails, see if you can get your main character to read select passages from the dictionary.

They say the neon lights are bright...

2009-11-01T19:48:00.006-06:00

...on Broadway

Part 3 of 3 in our discomfort series.

If Iowa City had a bad part of town (this is debatable), it would be the southeast, around Broadway St. I'm writing a paper that compares this neighborhood to my own, so a few days ago I spent an afternoon walking around there taking pictures. Despite my best efforts, I was a bit conspicuous, especially behind a camera lens. Lacking any personal connection to the place, it felt a bit like an exercise in exoticization of the "other" (or to put it in less pretentious terms, I felt like a wang). Look children! Cracked streets. Subsidized housing. Sub par neighborhood parks. See how different from the lovely urban enclave from whence we came?

The thing is, the Broadway neighborhood is actually a pretty decent place to walk around for an afternoon. Save one or two buildings, it's mostly modest but nice homes and well-kept (at least outwardly) apartment buildings. Yes, they do have more crime issues than the rest of the town, but it's truly not the hotbed of danger and despair that the papers make it out to be. And over the course of about 100 pictures, only one person mockingly yelled at me to 'take his picture cause he's a model, sweetie.'

Regardless, one can't help but get a little squeamish documenting in detail the difference between this:

and this:

Well then.

All I'm saying

2009-10-29T19:46:00.006-05:00

Part 2 in our 3 part discomfort series:

If I were making a top 5 list of the things my family is best at, it would probably go something like this:

Scaring animals away from fruit trees/bushes
Talking
Trivial games of mental agility
Producing cute children
Talking

With all this skill of speech, it's strange that there is one thing that I never ever talk about with my family: people I'm dating. Or maybe it's not so strange...because really, this is why:

This past weekend I visited the family and decided to tell them about my current romantic situation, as it had become quite worth mentioning. This made me very uncomfortable, and a quick look at some of the responses reveals the validity of my hesitation:

Dad: Will he dig holes with me?
Brother: So Lorin, I hear you have a Latin lover.
Mom: [immediately tells entire extended family]
Aunt: All I'm saying is, it's a good thing for a family to have a wedding.

Oh, the world would be such a wonderful place if that really was ALL she was saying.

Tomorrow: Wrong side of the tracks

I'm an idiot

2009-10-28T17:07:00.003-05:00

We're temporarily interrupting the Nanowriqua-fest to bring you a 3 part series on personal stories of embarrassment, crying, deep sharing, and cat calling. Today's installment:

Tears on the pavement
Lately I've been biking to class every day, which, despite its obvious benefits to the planet and my ass, is kind of annoying. But some days I need to drive. On one such day, I found my car blocked in by my roommate and no means to move it. A normal person might find alternative modes of transport for the day. But I of course decide that I could probably maneuver my car such that I would sneak out around the side of him. This, as it turns out, is unwise. I end up with my car stuck in the neighbor's flowerbed, tipped forward off the side of the driveway at a 45 degree angle, the right front wheel hovering just off the ground, the left front wheel spinning in the mud, and the bottom of the car resting on the concrete (I really wish I'd taken a picture).

After several minutes of staring at it, naturally I start to cry, as any grownup would. My neighbor comes to my front door to see what's happened and I cry harder, in an effort to appear mature and in control. As I go out to talk (weep) to her, I deftly lock myself out of my house, then proceed to stand confused, weepy and red-faced in my driveway until I've seen as many of my neighbors as possible.

Several hours later (and after much introspection concerning my right to continue living), Ross eventually pulls me out with his truck, while a large group of school children look on in amazement.

Look mommy, a cretin.

Tomorrow: Deep sharing

Day 25: Ah, student housing

2009-10-25T21:29:00.003-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day(ish), a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: 13,987 of 50,000

...remained in a limbo of broken floor boards and stained carpets, walls covered in inappropriate posters and old philosophy papers on Nietschze and darkness. The colors in all of them seemed to Adam to be the same: smatterings of light green paint and fake wood, with trim that had once been white, but now lived in a permanent state of gray. This particular house didn't appear to have a front outside wall. Inside hung paintings salvaged from the basement of the art building, mostly of naked women or screaming red skulls...

Day 18: Mennonites and cookies

2009-10-18T14:54:00.004-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day, a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

I've been slacking on the blog posts for a few days, but I'm totally on track with the writing of the words and things. Woot!

Word count: 10,199 of 50,000

"Rebellion against the Mennonites is something akin to rebelling against white bread or cardboard. It doesn't take much to get comparatively wild, but in the end, you're probably still nutritionally deficient. This is all that Pennsylvania means to Mauri: one step above cardboard on the continuum of good times. Better than nothing.
Still, he likes to drive. Some people might think a 20 hour solo drive would call for a significant stop. But Mauri merely pauses every few hours to use the bathroom and buy a pack of lemon cream sandwich cookies..."

Day 13: Animal Orgy

2009-10-13T22:45:00.002-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day, a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word Count: 6,793 of 50,000

"…of varying breeds, a one-eyed pig who supplied great comebacks for Angie’s imaginary fights with her father, 4 kittens, 11 frogs, and 2 penguins.
Yes, Angie has an endless line of advisors, but she prefers Mr. Balsafar. He was the first to tell her she was destined to be with Leonardo Dicaprio. Then Titanic came out and Angie saw it 29 times, so she figured he was on to something.
But Mr. B isn't talking tonight. Angie stares into one glassy elephant eye and then the other, looking for a flash."

Day 12: Push it real good

2009-10-12T13:43:00.004-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day, a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: 5,883 of 50,000

"...the first comic: a kid pushing a door marked "pull." The sign reads "Midvale school for the gifted." Angie likes this.

Angie had often been called gifted, though she was never sure how this gift improved her life situation. When teachers sent home notes to this effect, her father said only that she'd better clear her plate, while her mother seemed more interested in arranging the kitchen magnets she'd carved to look like Jesus. If she was hoping to impress her parents, Angie had been pushing in the wrong spot entirely.”

Day 9: Glamourous

2009-10-09T15:50:00.000-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day, a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: 5,172 of 50,000

"...bright red, its loose curls falling down her thin frame. She walks steadily on blue heels, in a black pencil skirt, wide purple belt and turquoise top. Somehow the bold spectrum of colors works for her, looking more glamorous than if she'd been sporting a sparkling evening gown. She seems unlike the sort of person Lorin would befriend. And most certainly unlike the sort of person that would be dating the small, bouncy man now pouring Dan a glass of wine and yelling:
'Cristina, tell councilwoman Ditzler about your new lover.' "

Day 7: Just say no

2009-10-07T20:42:00.000-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day, a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: 4,146 of 50,000

"...the front door. Kendra sinks into an overstuffed chair and stares at her contorted, unconscious friend. She's snoring a bit, her open mouth stuffed into a pillow that Kendra is sure has never been cleaned. She stares out at the fluorescent pink kitchen as she leans down to pick up a cashed pipe sticking out from under the couch. She laughs quietly to herself. Joycie's version of going clean, she thinks. No needles, no stabbing. Just breathing. Absorbing the good and blowing out the bad in a swirl of sweetened haze."

And here, my friends, is where we leave Kendra...for now.

Day 6: Two tone punch

2009-10-06T18:45:00.000-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day, a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: 3,588 of 50,000

"...'Jerry, what do you think? Should I go fuck myself?' he looks back at his sidekick, who's busy peeling the top layer of skin off his thumb. Kendra notices the passenger side door is a different color than the car. 'Jerry says no.'
Kendra has never seen someone punched in the face before. It doesn't look like she expects, the way she'd pictured it a hundred times while watching her parents fight. It's quicker. She sees him laughing. She sees Joycie's hand. She sees a grey door on a blue car."

Day 5: Pendulum of sex and drugs

2009-10-05T19:38:00.002-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day, a new embarassing 91 word excerpt.

Word count: 2,968 of 50,000

"...Joycie had developed a reputation for two things: sleeping around and throwing up her lunch. On any given day, it was impossible to predict which side of this poorly chosen dichotomy would emerge as most gossip worthy. Like that day she had a heart attack in second period after downing a bottle of stacker 2 diet pills - that was definitely a vomit day. But then the day after prom... Well, it just sort of swung back. And so Joycie ticked her way through high school on a pendulum of morbidly entertaining behaviors."

Day 4: Give it up kitty

2009-10-04T21:19:00.000-05:00

Project Nanowriqua: Writing a 50,000 word novel in 91 days. Every day, a new poorly written 91 word excerpt. Today's writing indiscretion: intractable incidence of adjectival alliteration

Word count: 2,352 of 50,000

"...of a kitten on a branch: Hang in there, it read. As Kendra turned back down the death hall, she wondered if the people hanging the posters were intentionally insensitive, or just that oblivious. The sickly sweet message assumed an air of morbid mockery here, hanging for years over so many who would like nothing more than to let go.
By the time they'd rolled back to Mr. Wallace's room, he'd fallen asleep in his chair. Kendra lifted him back to the bed. He did feel a little lighter this time."

Day 3: Sex lights the way

2009-10-03T19:08:00.000-05:00

Day 3 of project novel. 91 days. 50,000 words. Every day, a 91 word excerpt for your reading pleasure(?).

Word count: 1,698 of 50,000

"...electric sex gleaming in the rec room. Mr. Wallace’s left hand is twitching in his sleep - the only reliable indicator he's still alive.
To say the lamp is out of place doesn’t do justice to its unique peculiarity, Kendra thinks. It's not the idea of sex in a nursing home that's so odd, but rather the soft light radiating through the mesh stocking. Everything else was more harsh in contrast - more flat, more pale green.

'You can get anything you want, at Alice's restaurant.' The Arlo Guthrie song pipes through..."

Day 2: Hang in there kitty

2009-10-02T13:11:00.000-05:00

Day 2 of my 91 day quest to write a 50,000 word novel. To keep me honest (and embarrassed), you'll be getting daily word counts with 91 word excerpts. I'm already uncomfortable. Let's keep it up.

Word count: 1,221 of 50,000

"...down the thoughtless corridor. There had been some attempt to dress it up - pictures from last year's Halloween party, a drawing of a purple monkey floating through an expanse of orange, and one of those irritating inspirational posters inevitably featured in schools, churches and other places where people felt they might die. Underneath its image of a pristine mountain lake or a windsurfer surrounded by dolphins, there was always a single word, identifying this poster as an illustration of unmatched PERSISTENCE or BEAUTY. Kendra turned left at the purple monkey and..."

Nanowrimo, the remix

2009-10-01T21:00:00.004-05:00

Today's discomfort: 91 days. 91 words.

I’ve been struggling to find discomfort in the world lately. It’s just all too fucking good. And so, I have an idea…

National Novel Writing Month, or Nanowrimo, is every November. Last November I tried to write an entire 50,000 word novel in one month. I think I made it about halfway. It was awful.

The thing about the novel in a month thing is that it forces you to produce such a massive amount of quantity in so short a time frame that you literally can’t worry about how good it is. It allows you get out all that bad writing that’s been building up inside you so you can start to make room for the good stuff.

Since I’m in grad school and have less time to screw around with silly assignments to myself, I’ve decided to alter the task. Introducing: national novel writing quarter (nonowriqua?) October 1 – December 31. 91 days. 50,000 words. 549.5 words per day.

In fitting with this blog’s theme of embarrassing myself, I will post excerpts of my work here each day. Because it will suck, I’ll limit the posted segments to 91 words (I’d like to maintain a glimmer of hope that someone will still read this). While I don't promise quality, I do promise occasional bursts of quirk.

And don’t worry, if I do something really embarrassing in my life in the meantime, I’ll still let you know.

In my usual mode of self centeredness, this novel will be the story of my life as told through the stories of other people. I’ll take 8-10 people that I’ve known in my life and tell a story about them and from their perspective, but where I am a side character. It will be loosely based on reality, in a genre I like to call fictional non-fiction.

Ready for your first 91 word excerpt? Me too:

Day: 1 of 91
Word count: 888 of 50,000
Today's installment: Sisters and Knives

...The first time Kendra's sister tries to kill her, she’s on her bed reading Plato's symposium. Kendra sees the glint of a butcher knife and rolls onto the floor just in time to see Molly's mess of blond hair fling itself forward into what quickly becomes a mass of feathers and spit. The hopeful assassin stabs deeper and deeper into the bed, failing to notice her sister has vanished. Kendra's memory gives the scene an unrealistic wash of colors. The room glows yellow and orange, Molly's green lacy top and purple...

Speak softly and carry a big dummy

2009-09-21T18:03:00.009-05:00

Today's discomfort: My future as a disembodied voice

There is a distinct out-of-body experience that must occur when singing in someone else's wedding. Yes, I'm up here singing that "I can't help falling in love with you," but I don't mean it. Not ME. This voice you hear is actually coming from that glowing bride walking down the aisle, her eyes glistening with barely contained tears. So don't look at me. Don't notice how I string together the pretty tones in a strategic and graceful way. Don't see the performance. Just hear the message, and hear it coming from the quivering mouth of a joy stricken groom.

As I recover from my recent wedding non-performance, I can't help but think that my future will involve much more of this kind of disembodiment from my own voice. In studying to be an urban planner, it has become all too clear that your job is to craft a strategic, graceful, well performing plan, then magically make it appear to come out of the quivering mouths of your clients, elected officials, or members of the public. No, no, it's not me who wants this new transportation system, it's the mayor/the people/the city council sock puppets. This was your idea, aren't you so thoughtful? Now hand over the funding, goddamn it.

If I were crafting the urban planning curriculum, I'd devote at least half our courses to political manipulation. Or perhaps ventriloquism.

When I say dance, you best dance

2009-09-13T08:05:00.004-05:00

Today's discomfort: Anxiety party

Whenever I'm in a social situation, I feel personally responsible for making sure that everyone is included in the conversation and is having a good time. This has been compounded by the fact that for the last 3 years, it has actually been my job to create social situations and make sure everyone there is having a good time. For those of you who have not experienced this feeling, it basically means that your demeanor at parties is similar to that of a toy poodle: jumpy, excitable, and unable to carry on a conversation for more than 30 seconds.

Such was my mood at my housewarming party last night. It's not enough for me to convince a few dozen people to hang out in my backyard for an evening, but they have to be falling over themselves with socially induced joy and not feel awkward for even one second even though they've just showed up at a party where they know no one except the tiny host yipping at everyone's heels.

Parties are inevitably followed by waking up at 6:30 a.m. the next morning with that weird post-drinking fight-or-flight thing and grilling your memory with a rapid string of unanswerable questions - Did everyone have fun? Was it good? Was it perfect? Did I drink too much? Did I talk too much? Should I really have done that Pat Benatar impression? Maybe I should stop making out with people in public. Will any of my friends ever speak to me again? When do I get a treat? Where's my squeaky toy? I need to be walked!

70,000 drunkards can't be wrong

2009-09-05T21:34:00.002-05:00

Today's discomfort - IAfanaphobia: fear of Iowa Hawkeye fans

I went to my first Hawkeye football game today, courtesy of one McKinze Cook. I've been an avid tailgater for years (who wouldn't want to play beer pong and eat chili at 6 a.m.?), but always found the idea of actually entering the stadium horrifying for the following reasons:

1. The stadium holds 70,000 people. 70 thousand. That's 3,000 more than live in Iowa City - all. in. one. spot.
2. This is most certainly the highest density of drunk people per acre in the state
3. Everyone matches
4. Everyone is emotional
5. Everyone is hungry and thirsty and has to pee and has limited opportunity to do these things

Now that I have experienced a game however, I can create a list sufficient to outweigh these concerns:

1. You get to shout the letter 'w' over and over again, which almost never happens
2. You get to watch local companies throw their money away with comically poor advertising
3. Everyone matches!
4. Everyone is emotional!
5. Sometimes the pep band plays Lady Gaga songs

Takeaway for the day: I would really like to see more situations in which 70,000 people are wearing the same color shirt.

Can you see me on the tv mom? I'm wearing yellow.

I may have just sabatoged my future job prospects

2009-09-02T23:47:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: Defacing my character

I wrote an article for "Little Village" magazine in which I was instructed to give a personal account of unique ways I'm going green. Naturally, this devolved into a self mocking satire that revealed more about my personal life than is wise. News travels fast in this little village of Iowa City, and sometimes it reaches those you hope to be your future employers. Let's just hope whoever that is likes jokes about condoms, dumpster diving, and getting drunk and peeing outside. If they don't, I probably don't want to work for such a square anyway.

You can judge me too by picking up a free copy of "Little Village" at many cool places in Iowa City, or reading online here (click on "read this month's issue" box on right side. page 20). As an added bonus, some other people wrote things in the magazine too. It's pretty cool.

Also, at the recommendation of the publisher of LV, I am hereby changing the name of this blog to "Uncomfortablog." That Andrew Sherburne is a genius.

I found my inner child, and it's pissed

2009-08-27T22:56:00.004-05:00

Today's discomfort: Biking in the rain

I was told that biking home in the rain would bring out my inner child. Excuse me Mr. wet biker classmate o'mine, why the lies? I don't know about you, but my childhood wasn't characterized by anger, swearing, chills, and wet denim tightening around my thighs. Now, if instead we'd seen irrational fear, moodiness, and heartless judgment of others on that ride home, maybe "bringing out my inner child" would have been a more apt description of this afternoon's experience.

Hmm. Come to think of it, perhaps it's best you were wrong.

Putting the "moric" in "sophomoric"

2009-08-24T23:16:00.005-05:00

Today's discomfort: Defending the schools

Today was my first day of classes. And I started things off right by causing my entire class to laugh at me twice. The first was on purpose cause I'm so clever, but the second was when the professor was talking about how he opposed the ICCSD's decision to close Roosevelt Elementary because of the negative effects on the surrounding neighborhood, and I said couldn't you make the argument that keeping it open would strain the district's resources and cause the school to go downhill which wouldn't be good for the neighborhood either and he said "yes you could. but you'd be wrong."

[Cue laughter]

Here's to two more years of being shot down. It's gonna be great.

You're a jerk

2009-08-21T00:24:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: College students in droves

Today I watched 78 college first years do the Jerk at 9:30 a.m. in a large field. I'm training to be a facilitator on the high adventure challenge course, which involves climbing to the tops of very tall poles, balancing on wires and wobbling platforms, playing silly dancing games, and goading large groups of pre- and post-adolescents into thinking deeply about communication and mutual respect (and not being jerks). This makes me very excited. And very terrified.

At least I know I'll be better at all that than I was at imitating their crazy young folks dance. I imagine I looked sort of like this lady. (Though judging by the 50,000 hits on her video, maybe there's some entertainment value there after all).

Shoot 'em if you got 'em

2009-08-16T22:14:00.004-05:00

Today's discomfort: Drinking alone

On Friday night I walked into Quinton's, went directly to the bar, ordered a shot of tequila, took said shot (without salt or lime), and walked out. Completely alone. Completely sketchy. Completely awesome.

In store special: 10 year warranty on all sleeping partners!

2009-08-13T22:20:00.006-05:00

Today's discomfort: Long term commitments in the furniture aisle

It's perhaps worth mentioning that I got hit by a car today, which was uncomfortable. However, it wasn't on purpose, so it doesn't really count for this blog.

I did, however, choose to go bed shopping. Why is this uncomfortable? Because it prompts middle aged, pot bellied, be-spectacled salesmen to ask you seemingly inappropriate questions. For example:

Pot belly: Do you have a sleeping partner?
Lorin: Well, not a consistent one...

Which is meant as a simple statement of fact, but comes out sounding like I'm a little slutty. Or perhaps am hitting on Mr. Pot Belly.

Alternatively you may find yourself lying down with a 30 something woman you just met, talking about how you see yourself in 10 years:

Saleslady: What's nice about about the Seely is that you get your 10 year warranty -
Lorin: Well yeah, but am I really going to want just a full size bed 10 years from now? I mean, I'm kinda hopin I might have one of those consistent sleeping partners ya'll keep talkin about by then.

Finding the 10 year guarantee too much to commit to, I pick up one of the "hot deal" mattress sets, meant to last about as long as a hamster. Impulse buy. By the register.

Now that's a commitment I can make.

Mama loves you...sort of

2009-08-12T00:14:00.000-05:00

Today's discomfort: Old

I'm walking downtown when suddenly I see a large group of male college students bearing down on me. The only way out of their path involves oncoming traffic, so I hold my breath and hurry past. It's no use. Despite my attempt to avoid exposure, the scent of Keystone Light, AF cologne and stale cigarettes penetrates my lungs. It's a scent designed to send female hormones raging, and I have been no exception. That is, until now.

As they pass, there is a strange, new feeling. Is it...could it be....not lust but....nostalgia? A horrifying thought. Am I truly that old? Am I so wholly separated from college sights and smells that all I can muster is a stale feeling of remembrance and an unimpressed libido?

Oh god, it's true. All the signs are there.

I think back to last winter, as I watched the college girls running around in below zero temperatures wearing halter tops, or fishnet stockings, or sexy bumble bee costumes. Instead of hating them for being hotter than me as I should, I felt a motherly instinct to jump out of the car and throw blankets over their heads (ok, maybe still some sinister thoughts here...) Laura Cuff and I even concocted a plan for the non profit organization CFS: Coats for Skanks.

Or last week when I saw the college freshman wandering around downtown in a nervous flock. Those poor awkward children, I think to myself. Look like they're afraid they'll be picked off by lions if they stray to the side of the pack.

It appears that my instincts toward college students are now more that of a passive aggressive mother than a peer. When did this happen? I mean, I'm not saying I want to be a college student again or anything, but shouldn't I get a few more years of post grad resentment before the spuriously maternal nostalgia sets in?

Put your pants back on

2009-08-09T21:16:00.000-05:00

Today's discomfort: Bunkin' Up

After 5 years of solitary living, I now find myself sharing a house with four other people. While I am vastly excited about the house and housemates, I am somewhat uncomfortable with the fact that I may no longer feel free to do the following:

1. take off my pants immediately upon entering my home
2. pee with the door open
3. leave my underwear in the living room
4. stay at home on a Friday night eating large amounts of chocolate chips and watching reruns of "Friends" (perhaps this is for the best)
5. practice 80s rock covers on the banjo
6. have sex in the kitchen (again, for the best)
7. host all night raves with middle aged Swedish photographers (ok, this never happened in one of my living spaces, but there was always the hope that certain college experiences would repeat themselves)

Hmmm...as I review the list, it seems that this roommate thing may make me a better person after all. Perhaps if I can negotiate the continuation of number 5, the rest can be reluctantly given up in the name of prudence and hygeine.

In the S'th

2009-08-07T14:33:00.006-05:00

Today's discomfort: Linguistic infusions

Whenever I'm in the south, I remember the wise council of comedian Mitch Hedberg, concerning how to blend in with this particular culture:

"When I play the South, they say "y'all" in the South. They take out the "O" and the "U". So when I'm in the South I try to talk like that so people understand me. 'Hello, can I have a bowl of chicken noodle s'p? Come on, I'm in the South, you understand. I mean I'm in the S'th, and I want some s'p!' "

For sure, there's no denying the immortal genius of the late Mitch Hedberg. When I'm in a different linguistic environment, I always adjust whether I like it or not. This is the reason I can't talk to anyone directly after watching a Jane Austen movie, lest I risk giving offense with so unguarded an employment of outdated habits of speech. This is the reason all Minnesotan people think I'm mocking them, dontcha know, and why the ends of all my words magically disappear when I'm in the fields of my parents' farm, talking to people with names like 'Randy' or 'Beef'.

I'm in Knoxville TN for the weekend and I just know I'm going to make things very awkward with some southerners when I suddenly yell out: "Ya'll come down to the crick, we's fixin to party right nice now, ya hear?"

Bad Samaritan

2009-07-30T15:57:00.017-05:00

Today's discomfort: I'm no boy scout

Some guy just screamed at me on the sidewalk for a good 2 minutes. Among other things, I was told to go to Des Moines and see Congressman Loebsack regarding my behavior. It's possible I deserved it, but I'll let you be the judge.

I was walking home when I saw the blind guy that lives in my neighborhood up ahead of me. I've talked to him a few times before and he's always terribly unpleasant, but I just figure that's cause he can't see how adorable I am. He seemed uncharacteristically disoriented, nearly walking into oncoming traffic twice, so I stopped to ask if he was all set. No sooner had the word "are" left my mouth than he literally screamed "DON'T TOUCH ME" and proceeded to yell about how I had been drafted to the office of the blind in Des Moines.

I can't say I'm entirely sure where I went wrong here (perhaps it was the lack of a jaunty green bandana). However, the truly strange part was that instead of walking away from the stream of insults, I continued to walk next to him for the next block and a half, allowing him to finish his rant.

"I'll look into it," I said when he had finished listing off all the elected officials I should report to, and continued on my way. Perhaps subconsciously I thought it helpful to give him somebody to yell at. After all, when you've got all that bitter, it's gotta go somewhere. And no better place than me, the neighborhood bastion of nauseating joy.

Chain chain chain

2009-07-26T20:59:00.006-05:00

Today's discomfort: Mass produced satisfaction

The chains. Applebees, Chili's, Perkins, Denny's, Olive Garden - To me, the decision to eat in one of these establishments shows a sort of sad resignation to the unimaginative ways of a middle class, middle age life of relative comfort. It's somewhat on par with vacationing in Orlando or rooting for the Cubs. Yeah, it's not very exciting, but at least you know what you're gonna get.

Today I went to the Olive Garden, an action which I could only admit to others when paired with the disclaimer, "because my friend Kate works there."

Ok, so the food was pretty tasty. And yes, I guess the waitress was friendly, accurate and attentive. It wasn't overcrowded or too expensive, and, well, I did get to sit in a huge circle booth, which I love. Then just now I made my way to the Olive Garden website, where I found myself bopping to their pseudo Italian beat and pondering the true meaning of unlimited soup, salad and breadsticks and...

Ah fuck it. You've got me. Cubs win.

The road goes on forever and the party never ends

2009-07-25T11:32:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: RAGBRAI

RAGBRAI - Des Moines Register's annual "great" bike ride across Iowa.
Day 6 - Ottumwa to Mt. Pleasant
Rider's log

Mile 1: Am severely questioning my athletic self assessment. Begin to concentrate energy on forming creative insults toward toward this dirty little bitch of a hill.
Mile 2: Spot man wearing banana costume and cycling in what appears to be a banana boat. Am encouraged.
Mile 6: Enjoy how everyone calls out "on your left" when passing. How thoughtful.
Mile 12: Passed by second man in banana costume, followed closely by man in gorilla costume. Am reminded of ex-boyfriend.
Mile 15: Can llamas really hum? Mental note to look into this later.
Mile 23: Strange man has stopped me along side of road and insisted on raising my seat. Can no longer mount or dismount without serious damage to knees and/or ego.
Mile 34: Beginning to seriously question co-rider V. Costa's friendship. Persuasive "this will be fun" assurance clearly false.
Mile 47: Death appears imminent.
Mile 64: Yes, I know you're "on my left," you're always on my fucking left. I've been passed by 10,000 people already, I think I can guess that there's always someone passing me on my left you dipshit!
Mile 71: Finally see Mt. Pleasant water tower in distance, just behind certain death.
Mile 75: Fail to stop for after party. Rush home to plan revenge on Des Moines Register.

Google: now with soul search option!

2009-07-17T00:00:00.010-05:00

Today's discomfort: Sometimes when you don't have a job, you do strange things...

...Like today for instance, I started my day learning how to help people climb very tall poles and jump off of them, then later thought very seriously about how to put a ball pit in my new house, and finally stayed up until 1 a.m. writing a series of acrostics featuring my own name, using only my recent google search terms for the text. The fruits of that final endeavor are kind of embarrassingly wonderful, so I thought I'd share them with you. I particularly like the last one, which seems to be the 25 syllable expression of my life's motto.

landing in the hudson
opprobrium -
river boat entertainer
interred,
now the sky could be blue

lube flavor names -
om,
roni.
i'm a hustler baby,
namaste my ass.

let me see your hips swing
out of my gourd.
reasonable
idiocy.
now i'm leaving.

libel
oasis
ron hubbard,
indelible
name which means liar

libertine
ocd -
rocky punching slabs of beef.
i've got to be unstoppable
narcissism.

Hiking the Appalachian Trail

2009-07-15T14:08:00.002-05:00

Today's discomfort: Taking cues from Governor Sanford

I'm at a family reunion, listening to my cousin give pointers for picking up Albanian husbands on mission trips to France, when my grandmother sits down next to me. I know what she's going to say. It's the first thing she's said every time she's seen me since I was 14: "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Once in college, I made the mistake of answering in the affirmative, saying that, well yes, I suppose there is this guy who hangs around a lot that one could consider my boyfriend. She never let it go. Three years later, when my only communication with said boyfriend was him yelling obscenities at me in a crowded pub, grandma still wanted to know how my boyfriend Jon was doing.

Over the years I've learned to avoid this problem by giving more imaginative answers. Yet despite my ingenuity, her inevitable question still bothers me. And it's not because of some Bridget-Jones-y, awkwardly-charming-but-desperately-single sort of complex. It bothers me because I know my grandmother is lying awake at night wondering when I will finally get married.

I'm not against marriage per se. I'm not even against marriage for me specifically. I've even been known to ponder the excitement of a joint tax return or the virtue of a purple wedding dress. I simply despise the fact that it's expected of everyone.

The way I think about the possibility of getting married is similar to the way I think about the possibility of being attacked by bears. Sure, it could happen. Naturally I want to have some things in mind that I would do if the situation ever presented itself, and I'm sure I could increase the chances by stuffing my pockets full of beef jerky or something, but I'm not going to base all my future plans around it. Of course I'll still go hiking on the weekends and maybe even camp out overnight every now and then, but I'm not going to go wandering through the woods nabbing bear cubs. It just doesn't appeal to me.

I turn to my grandmother. "No. No I don't," I tell her. "But don't worry, next month I'm taking a road trip to Appalachia."

Please stop poking my nipple

2009-07-13T13:25:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: Children are sooo inappropriate

When one is unfamiliar with child rearing, it's easy to find some of the conversation it inspires to be rather uncouth. Of course, there are the parents that talk at length about potty training or other atrocities. However, what I find most embarrassing are the things you have to explain to these little people who do not yet understand social norms. As I visit with my nieces and nephew, I am forced to say things like:

Please stop poking my nipple, Clara
or
Sam, please don't talk about your penis at the dinner table

At first I was uncomfortable uttering these directives, but now I just find myself wishing I could be this frank with the adults in my life, who have certainly been guilty of these and other breaches of society at one point or another.

Come to think of it, Alok did both of these things just last week. Take note.

Running from poo, ferrets, and the elderly

2009-07-09T22:55:00.005-05:00

Today's discomfort: Ignoring the de-motivational speakers

Lately I've been concerned about our collective work ethic and its relation to poo.

Tomorrow is my last day at my first job. As I've tried to power through the last few weeks, everyone has told me to stop caring. And not subtly. I've received countless encouragements to totally check out, with not a single person advising me to the contrary. Which makes me wonder about our view of work. Is our only motivation for doing well in our jobs to avoid being hassled with the consequences later on? Surely we're not all as bad as our buddy Peter Gibbons.

Perhaps this simply speaks to our collective attitude toward the value of things that will soon end, like:

print newspapers
the elderly
black footed ferrets

Or our attitude toward situations in which the negative consequences are passed on to someone else, like:

climate change
voting republican
flaming bags of poo on your neighbor's doorstep

Ignoring the advice of everyone I know is not something that comes comfortably. But nevertheless, I'm performing my own little protest against species extinction, ageism, republicans, and piping hot feces - by continuing to actually give a shit (pun obviously intended). Instead of ringing the doorbell and running, I've decided to turn the hose on any flaming bags I may find on my doorstep, so that maybe, just maybe, the next person in my job won't have to ruin a pair of perfectly good slippers.

If you hit modern civilization, you've gone too far...

2009-07-01T21:24:00.007-05:00

Today's discomfort: Non-directional directions

In rural Parke County Indiana, the way you tell people how to get to Bridgeton is by telling them how NOT to get to Bridgeton: Go west out of Rosedale. Don't turn right. Don't drive on any gravel roads. Don't go uphill. It's not on your left.

Sometimes directions come in the form of landmarks: Turn right at the blue volkswagen. You wonder at first how you could rely on such a transient piece of the landscape, until you drive up to see a tree trunk growing straight through the floorboard and out the busted windshield.

More often than not, you get the names: It's just past Doug Newman's farm, up by the old Slaven place.

North, south, east, west - Around here, it's all somewhat irrelevant. And when I'm here visiting my parents, I fall into that same mindset. Any other place I've ever lived or visited, I make it a point to constantly know which way is north, and what the street grid looks like from 10,000 feet. But here, in this place where tractors reign and the only thing that's changed since my father's 1960s childhood is the banning of the Mecca high school mascot, the Mecca Arabs (Ay-rabs), I don't even know the name of the road running past my parent's farm.

The problem is, though I eschew standard directions during my visits, I've never really lived here. I don't know where the spaghetti factory was 30 years ago or the location of the creek with the tastiest muskrats. Therefore, whenever I am told to go somewhere, I get lost.

Nevertheless, I ventured out with my sister today to try and find the grocery store. As we drove down an unamed road, in some indeterminite direction, I thought all was lost. Then suddenly, I saw a sign I knew from deep in my childhood, clear as day.

"There," I shout to my sister. "The 100 foot tall cross that says 'Jesus Saves.' Turn there."

Om

2009-06-24T20:35:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: Being at one with the universe

Namah Shivaya Gurave
Satchidananda Murtaye
Nishprapanchaya Shantaya
Niralambaya Tejase

...which supposedly means something or other about being full of peace, but made me feel anything but peaceful today when I was tricked into chanting it out loud with 20 other people in a steel/glass themed yoga studio downtown. Reciting mass chants off a sweaty handout in self conscious monotone? Come on people, THIS is my primary complaint against church services. And now the gods of group-think have infiltrated my fitness routine? Namaste my ass.

p.s. - When you type "Namaste my ass" into google, the second image result is this:

Just thought you'd like to know.

I'm with stupid

2009-06-20T14:18:00.002-05:00

Today's discomfort: Hate flashback

Today is Pride in Iowa City. And where you find Pride, you sometimes find small groups of religious zealots publicly demonstrating their own idiocy. And where you find small groups of religious zealots publicly demonstrating their own idiocy, you often find my friend Alok, continually determined to protest all hateful protestors.

Alok, finding the fun haters along the parade route this afternoon, promptly ran over to Ragstock, bought a $3 t-shirt, wrote "I'm with stupid" with an arrow pointing to the side, ran back to the fun haters, and stood silently next to the guy holding the "repent now" sign for quite some time. They soon left.

Now, as tasty as Alok's quiet genius is, interactions like these inevitably bring up uncomfortable memories of my own dip into the waters of blind intolerance. Yes, today I'm all rainbows and kittens when it comes to the GLBT community, but twas not always so. I still have the entry from my junior high journal that decidedly declares all gay people to be full of shit, no doubt a recap of that morning's Sunday school lesson.

Indeed, it's a bit jarring to think that, had my mind been a little lazier, or my parents a little angrier, or my college experience a little (a lot) straighter, I might be the one with a little Indian man standing next me, his white t-shirt letting the world know just how stupid I am. And perhaps even more jarring is the fear that there may still be just a little bit of stupid left in me after all. A childhood full of worrying about all those poor gay people going to hell doesn't erase quite as completely as you might like.

Damn subconscious. It a'int no etch-a-sketch.

Curse of the Triptych

2009-06-14T22:48:00.006-05:00

Today's discomfort: Well Hello Dolly

I like singing. I like dancing. I like theatre. But put these things together and I just get embarrassed for everybody - the actors, the audience, the world at large. This is particularly illogical when you consider the fact that in my everyday life, I often burst into song or dance at little provocation. And I typically wear that manic expression of happiness, characteristic of musicals the world over.

Today I went to see some friends in the musical "Hello Dolly." Objectively, I can say that they did a fantastic job. But whenever I watch live musicals, I have to make a conscious effort to stifle feelings of embarrassment in order to enjoy the show. I'm engaged in a constant internal monologue - This is fun, Lorin. This is good. Everybody's happy. You like happy. You like pretty sights and sounds. You like kitchy humor. Come on, just look at how loveable Kehry is in his little bow tie.

All in all, I was pretty successful in convincing myself. But there were still a few key moments when I looked around the room and thought: What is wrong with this audience? Don't they realize that those are grown men up there dancing and singing and slapsticking it up in darling matching suits? How are we not mortified? Shouldn't someone tell those dancing people that we can all see them?

As it turns out, the world DOES revolve around me

2009-06-13T10:26:00.006-05:00

Today's discomfort: Disaster to disaster

This morning a bright yellow school bus followed me for over an hour, the purr of the engine slowly growing as it chugged along at a steady 5 miles/hour, its driver staring my ass, wondering why it couldn't move itself any faster.

I was running the "Dam to downtown" 10K, or as I prefer to call it, the "disaster to disaster run." (started at the Coralville Dam, where there was a heck of a lot of water last year, and ended at College Green park, where the 2006 tornado touched down). I proudly brought up the rear, along with a spry 65 year old man and 57 year old woman who walked every hill, yet managed to stay ahead of me until just after mile 5.

Yes, it's a little awkward to be one of the last people in a race, with the emergency vehicles close at your heels, but what more than makes up for it is the fact that as you pass volunteer after volunteer, closed street after closed street, helpful police man after sad police man, you feel pretty damn special. On that last mile, when you can't even see anyone in front of you anymore, it's like they've closed down the city just for you, like you've got your own personal fleet of supporters who have nothing they would rather do than sit on the side of the road, in the rain, waiting patiently to yell out words of encouragement, stop traffic, and make sure you're properly hydrated.

Intimidation methods for birds and children

2009-06-11T19:44:00.004-05:00

Today's discomfort: Squawking

Today I found myself running through a playground in S.T. Morrison park, beating my arms together and making all manner of predatory noises.

After setting up a delicious lunchtime picnic for 30 people or so, I had made the mistake of leaving the picnic shelter to bask in the sun. Suddenly I looked back to see crows descending upon my spread. I knew I wouldn't make it back in time to shoo them away physically, and so I started running across the playground, clapping my hands and squawking in a threatening manner.

This is not usually the sort of behavior I would encourage for adults on playgrounds, but our brownies remained untainted, and the playing children learned what crazy might look like. I'd call it a success.

Sex: now available in raspberry-mango!

2009-06-07T17:12:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: the birds and the bees

Today I was passing out fliers for my play at the ICARE pancake breakfast, next to a guy passing out information and sex-related freebies on behalf of ICARE (Iowa Center for AIDS Resources and Education). My attempt to publicize City Circle's upcoming works was a failure, but what made it all worth it was the benefit of watching the ICARE guy try to dissuade countless small children from taking the free, brightly colored tubes of flavored lube.

"No, no, that's for adults." Hmm...are you sure ICARE man? The sparkly pink label on juicy strawberry says otherwise.

When he stepped away from the booth, I did not choose to carry on his efforts.
"Can I have this?" a 6 year old boy asks me excitedly, holding up a tube of purple passion.
"Sure. And take one of those shiny wrapped balloons too. No, no, not the ribbed. The one that says ultra sensitive, that's the best."

Hey, it's as good a time as any for their parents to pull out the old 'birds and bees' talk. I'm a public servant, really.

You're welcome.

When you get to the legs, just start sucking

2009-06-07T00:41:00.002-05:00

Today's discomfort: Clash of cultures

Imagine with me if you will -

You're at an outdoor party on a beautiful summer evening. You're having lovely conversations about pandas and roof gardens. You're drinking belgian beer from a keg the size of a chihuahua. And suddenly your hosts walk outside with buckets full of boiled kittens. Everyone gets excited and sits down to feast. You awkwardly stand by the chips and salsa, wavering between your desire to be social and your desire to escape the cracking sound of kitten skulls, as your fellow party goers show each other the best way to suck out the gooey brainy center.

I had this very experience tonight. Ok, so they weren't actually kittens, they were crabs. But I use the frightening kitten brain example to try to convey the level at which I was freaked out by watching (and hearing...and smelling) about 20 people crack open crabs and suck out their flesh.

Now, I'm not one of those vegetarian types that hates people that eat meat. It's your prerogative dude. And I knew going to the party what I was getting into (and I still had a smashing time, btw). But I guess I just didn't realize how far removed I was from the meat eating experience. In some cultures, eating kitten brains wouldn't seem gross. In our culture, sucking the flesh out of a crab leg doesn't seem gross. But in my new culture of one, that cracking sound makes me feel like someone's sucking the life out of my appendages too.

Celebrate our existence in this infinite universe

2009-06-04T20:41:00.005-05:00

Today's discomfort: Don't drink the Kool-aid

I was walking downtown at dusk when a brightly colored card fluttered to my feet, as if from the heavens. The text read as follows:

On June 20th 2009, we will celebrate our existence in this infinite Universe by integrating modern technology with the all-night tribal dance rituals of our ancestors. With two stages of mind-expanding music and lighting, UV-reactive decor, drum circles, art exhibits, live fire and art performances, a large bonfire, and a fractal-generating 35,000 watt sound system, all on spacious farmland near Iowa City, IA...Fractal Fields promises to be an unforgettable neo-tribal music and art experience.

Now, doesn't that sound like the kind of place where they'd make you drink the funny kool-aid, then drag all your lifeless bodies into the field and carefully arrange them into the stunning shape of the Brassica oleracea? It sure does to me. Which is why I am obviously going. I don't want to. But it's just inevitable. Perhaps I'm taken in by the entrancing image of the green psychadelic fractal.

Julia's coming with me. Are you?

I hope the kool-aid is grape flavored. I hope the kool-aid man appears to me as I walk toward the spinning orb of green light, to join our ancestors in this infinite Universe we call the afterlife. Oh yeaaah.

Small, green, answers to the name "Twankie"

2009-06-01T19:40:00.006-05:00

Today's discomfort: Stealing

Perhaps you can help me with an ethical dilemma.

Today as I was leaving the store I saw a $20 bill lying in the parking lot.

I looked at it. Scanned the parking lot. Walked over to it. Scanned the parking lot. Picked it up. Scanned the parking lot. Hmm. No one searching their pockets or screaming in anguish.

Now, at this point I am sure there is a hidden camera watching me. You know, one of those undercover evening news stories where they plant something unexpected in a public place and watch how people react, then use the reactions to demonstrate how the values of our society have gone down a shame spiral? I am particularly suspicious because I also found $5 in the ped mall on Friday. Are they following me? Is KCRG's Claire Kellett hiding in the bushes, silently judging me for making the wrong decision? For stealing?

But honestly, what is the RIGHT decision in this situation? Go into the store and ask them to announce that someone found money and they should come claim it? Or perhaps I should post it on Craig's list. Hmm, how might that go...

Found:
Small, rectangular piece of linen/cotton blend. Mostly green with pinkish beige accents. Large picture of ugly old man on front with erroneous quasi-religious assertion on back. Can be exchanged for goods and services. Contact Lorin.

Ridiculous right? Right???

Oh relax, Claire. I'll give the friggin thing to charity. Sheesh.

Google wants to embarrass me

2009-05-30T10:15:00.002-05:00

Today's discomfort: Visions of future embarrassments

Google is coming out with a new program called Wave. As cool as this thing is, all I can think about as I watch the demo (which you must watch immediately) is all the potential for embarrassment in (mis)using it.

For example, there's a feature where you can simply drag and drop a blog icon into an e-mail conversation and it will automatically post to a blog. Cool? Yes. But even more so, a terrifying prospect for user error and embarrassment. It's like your worst "reply all" nightmares come true (Laura Chesnut knows what I'm talking about).

Believe me, I'll be one of the first people using this thing. But I have a feeling I'm going to regret it. And when I do, you'll be the first to know.

Be my friend

2009-05-28T18:58:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: The platonic romance - part 2

Alok, Cristina and Vivian are leaving me for some manner of large city on some coast somewhere. Therefore, I need to woo some new friends. This is often a semi-awkward process, which involves trying to transform acquaintances into real live friends without feeling too needy in the process. I made another one of those attempts today. It involved falafel. And bears.*

So if you hear from me more than usual in the coming months, it may be because I'm trying to fill the impending void in my life. Or it may be just because you're really super cool. Either way, you should have lunch with me sometime.

*Not bears

Lawkward to Mawkward

2009-05-23T18:43:00.003-05:00

Today's discomforts: Woodwork. Would work. Wood work.

I've built up a number of discomforts over the last few days. Instead of running through them chronologically, I've decided to present them from least awkward to most awkward. Lawkward to Mawkward, if you will.

Lawkward: Went to the new house to measure things with a giant orange measuring tape while the current resident looked on, wondering why I was crawling on his bed and stroking his woodwork. Wait, that came out more scandalous than I meant it to. Oh never mind.

Smawkward (slightly more awkward): Went to meet with city council. They made us all wear microphones, which makes it awkwardly obvious when you don't contribute to the conversation. Which I did not. Still, smawkward or no, I like those folks. Medium sized midwest city government, I heart you.

Mawkward: I'm in this play where I'm the faux girlfriend of a gay hustler who is falling in love with a closeted movie star. (right?) Because it's community theatre, you often have to rehearse in whatever space you can get, which for us means my director's bedroom. (riiight?) In this play there is a fair amount of kissing and quite a bit of stripping. It's awkward enough to sit in a room with three people and watch two other people make out and take off clothing. It's mawkward when you're doing so in a preacher's bedroom.

Oh sweet lord

2009-05-21T23:10:00.002-05:00

Today's discomfort: Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. OH GOD.

Moments ago, I happily updated my blog with a bit of slightly scandalous material, full of the usual puns and sexual inuendos, or, outuendos, as it were. Finally satisfied, I hit "publish post." A few minutes later, I decided to click "view blog", just cause sometimes I like to see it there staring out at me from the interwebs. And suddenly, my entire body was filled with horror as I realized I had just published all of this personal ridiculousness to my WORK blog.

Oh god. Oh god. OH MY GOD! How do I delete it? Delete it delete it! Sweet lord, how have I suddenly forgotten how to navigate the blog software? What the hell do all these buttons mean? Why can't I feel the tips of my fingers? Sweet Jesus save me!

Seriously. seriously. Awkward.

Maybe tomorrow I'll repost what I intended to write today. But for now, I'm far too rattled.

I think her name was Karamel

2009-05-17T13:23:00.003-05:00

Today's discomforts: Talking to the press, Partying with 18 year olds and/or strippers

Thursday: The local paper asked me to comment on an upcoming decision of the parks and recreation commission. Though I was assured by staff that this was "an easy one", the idea of speaking in any sort of official capacity on something that a number of people actually care about was a little scary. I guess it's a good thing I called her back, since it doesn't seem that she talked to anyone else who's making the decision.

Friday: Some friends and I went back to Grinnell for block party, which involves a lot of college students celebrating the completion of the academic year by drinking vast quantities of beer out of mannequin heads and large mixing bowls. I felt a little old and out of place when I realized that I don't know a single person who is still a student there. At least I didn't have to sleep outside on the pole vaulting mat this year.

Saturday: I let a stripper kiss me. That's probably all I should say about that.

which leads to...

Sunday: Sleeping till noon. This always makes me anxious, since I'm recklessly high strung concerning inefficient uses of my time.

Lost in translation

2009-05-12T22:59:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: Curiouser and curiouser...

Lately I've been doing a lot of things that I recognize as odd and inappropriate, but there is little I can or want to do to stop myself. This is very very different from my MO in the near and distant past. I am no longer able to translate the thought "this is an odd/irresponsible/vulgar/embarrassing/irrational thing to do" into "maybe i won't do this thing." Somehow, the message just gets lost. And instead I simply walk home chuckling to myself, watching my integrity shoot down a spiral of broken amusement.

Filter. gone.

Blog. to blame.

What the f#@k

2009-05-10T22:35:00.002-05:00

Today's discomfort: More public indecency

Today I was walking downtown with Julia, telling a very spirited story about my very fascinating life, and I came to a point where it was utterly necessary (for the integrity of the story) for me to yell a series of obscenities. Normally I would not do this, especially since we had just passed a group or two of college kids and were gaining ground on a mother pulling her children in a wagon, but I had to be true to the story. So I swore. Loudly. LOUDLY. And repeatedly.

Ok, so maybe it wasn't really for the blog and my quest of being uncomfortable. Maybe I just needed the release. Either way, some children learned a new word today. I sure hope it serves them as well as it has me.

Saturday morning show

2009-05-09T12:31:00.003-05:00

Today's discomfort: Indecent exposure

Sometimes when I go running I wear these little shorts that ride up so much that you can see my underwear.
Sometimes when I go running I forget to wear underwear.

Today, these two fateful actions happened to coincide. For about the first mile, I pulled the shorts down about every 5 steps to keep myself covered, but then I realized the opportunity to be uncomfortable, so I stopped and let nature take its course.

In full disclosure, I did cover myself somewhat when I ran into Sean and McKinze, and once more when I passed standing-on-the-corner-staring-at-a-leaf-for-a-really-long-time guy. But on the whole, a lot of people saw my ass this morning.

Maybe I can work my way up to some naked runs. That always seemed to work out well for the Grinnell cross country team.

Thriller

2009-05-03T20:02:00.005-05:00

Today's discomfort: Dead, Undead, Nondead

Today I went running through a cemetery at dusk. Turns out the kind of people that you find when you're running through a cemetery at dusk are creepy - the kind of creepy that so perfectly fits the situation that you start to wonder if maybe your life has a casting director.

Wanted: 2 males, 1 female. late 20s-early 30s. must be drastically under/overweight, unshaven and missing a good portion of their hair and/or teeth and/or neck. must look as if they might eat the brains of sunday evening joggers if they weren't so tired from stealing the fingers off of recently interred corpses.

Just play along

2009-05-02T00:19:00.008-05:00

Today's discomfort: Being a prop

Tonight I went to Charlie's and there was Karaoke, which makes me very happy. After a while I sang "What's Up" by the 4 non blondes, because that's clearly unavoidable.

As I returned to my table, a wrinkled but energetic man came up to me and asked if I would "play along" when he sang his Karaoke song. This guy was quite a bit older than me, but not enough older to be a cute old man type or to rule out the fact that he could be hitting on me and that he might be a teensy bit creepy. Despite his refusal to tell me what song he was singing, I promised this strange older man I would play along with his performance because, well...that's a little uncomfortable.

When the time came for the song, the man came over, grabbed me by the hand, and led me to the stage.

"Wait, I'm not singing, I'm just playing along!" I protested.
"No, no, don't worry. You're just my prop."

And so, he props me on stage, continues to hold my hand, sings me a song about how I don't love him anymore, and pulls me in close for the dance break. I try to play along, and I laugh, and I really want it to be funny, but it's - not - quite. Cause he's a strange man in a bar. And he's slow dancing with me as scattered groups of bar patrons yell drunkenly at failed pool shots and attack large meat sandwiches with their libation-slicked mouths. So I just keep smiling and telling myself that those deadened looks of disinterest in the audience are because they're all so terribly disappointed that I'm not singing Prince.

I'm a hustler baby

2009-04-29T23:14:00.004-05:00

Today's discomfort: Signs

I was on the fence about auditioning for this play which had all sorts of things in it sure to make me uncomfortable: hustlers, nudity, a classification as "dramedy." When a friend text messaged me to tell me to come audition tonight, I took it as a sign and lugged myself over to Coralville.

When I got there and the library was dark and one of their employees told me that the people doing the auditions left, I took it as a sign and decided that I didn't really have the time to do it anyway.

When I got home and looked up more about the play, and one of the characters was described as "acerbic," one of my top 5 favorite words (just after secrete and agglomeration), I took it as a sign that I should call the director and ask for a chance to audition.

When he seemed surprised that a stranger was calling him at 9:30 p.m. on a Wednesday about wanting to be a gay hustler's faux girlfriend, I took it as a sign that I may be more weird than I used to be.

Just dance

2009-04-27T22:47:00.005-05:00

Today's discomfort: Children, Baking, Dancing, More Dancing, Life

Blast. It's been a week since I've publicly documented my embarrassments and anxieties. Don't worry, I've got a week's worth of uncomfortable:

Wednesday: For earth day, the high school youth program I direct decided to plant flowers and spread mulch with children. I didn't have to go, but I did. And stood in horror as 90 fourth graders literally came running straight at me, careening down the hill and scrambling up playground equipment, like ants covering a drop of strawberry ice cream.

Thursday: Arrived at a hotel carrying a 40 pound oven that said "Fresh, Hot, Buy Here" and set up a mini cookie bakery in their lobby.

Friday: Crashed the grad school spring formal where the following things happened:
a woman I was once in a play with grabbed my ass and talked to me about Rent for 20 minutes
i accidentally ate cheese
i started the dancing
i started the stage dancing
i introduced myself to someone i've met five or six times

Saturday: Went to a career fair and, directly between an insurance company and a university, Kelly and I set up a booth that was full of:
several dozen balloons,
rousing games of hangman and connect 4
a massive bowl of candy
me, juggling
me, dancing

Sunday/Monday: Ok, so this didn't technically happen during the past 2 days, but I think I should get to count the fact that over the past few weeks I've been telling everyone I know that I'm leaving my job and going to grad school, and been contemplating and hyperventilating about massive life changes. I'm getting heart palpitations on an hourly basis. That's got to count for something, right?

Never mind that now, Lorin. Just dance. Gonna be okay. Da da doo doo mmm.*

*yes, I know this is the second time I've linked to Lady Gaga on my blog. it won't be the last.

beep beep, beep beep, yeah

2009-04-21T21:49:00.005-05:00

Today's discomfort: Life on the streets

I was leaving the junior high today when I got stuck behind a train on 1st avenue and saw my friend Sam's car just ahead of mine. Knowing what I do about my friend Sam, I knew that if I called him, he would abandon his running car in the middle of the street to come back and talk to me. Knowing that this would make me uncomfortable (since such action must surely be breaking some sort of road rule, and breaking rules makes me queasy), I call immediately. Sam does not disappoint.

Later, as I was leaving Cristina's house, I saw a tall Indian man wandering by the hydraulic lab, aimless and alone. Seeing that this is Sameet, I honk and stop my car dead in the middle of Riverside drive, blocking confused motorists behind me. I convince the lonely man to get in the car with me and we gallivant back and forth across the river.

Thinking about today's transportation deviations, I'm reminded of my phase in high school where I found it wildly entertaining to sit or lie down in the middle of quiet streets. It felt anxiously satisfying (though somewhat anticlimactic) to casually occupy a space that had always been off limits mentally, but never physically. This makes me wonder what other rules I'm following that seem woven into the essence of the world, when really, I can simply walk out there and prostrate myself any time I darn well like. That is, as long as I don't mind risking injury, death and/or rebuke from my mother.