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September 2007 archivesThursday, September 27, 2007
Virginia
We were a motley crew of homeward-bound folk, "home" varying for each of us. We all carried a suitcase or airline-tagged bag of some sort, denoting the obvious: we'd been somewhere else, and now we're coming back. If you looked closely enough, you could see hints of where some people had been. Some were more obvious. For instance, one woman in front of me wore a cowboy hat. You don't get cowboy hats in Chicago much, although come to think of it, at church recently a woman was wearing one. We were at Scott's church, and had we been at my church, it would have been shocking. Catholics don't accessorize for Mass much, and when we do, you'd better blend in with all of the rest of congregation. Episcopalians seem much more inclusive where such matters are concerned. Anyway, this woman on the "L" was wearing a "I-just-bought-this-on-vacation" cowboy hat, and she made it her own, caressing the brim every now and then, tipping her head in a fashion that seemed to suggest she'd grown accustomed to it as a way to punctuate what she was saying. They say it takes two weeks to form or break any habit. I think vacations expedite things, which is why, assuming she was only gone, say, several days, when she leaned in to whisper something into the ear of her partner, she didn't furiously grab at the hat, fearing it would fall off. She simply adjusted the angle of her neck accordingly, so that as she whispered, as she leaned, the cowboy hat remained still on her head. In that moment, I'd wished I bought a souvenir from our trip. I remember telling JP several years ago that I didn't really like vacations, that they didn't suit me. My father doesn't get outwardly exasperated with me - inwardly, I know I exasperate the man on a daily basis, and it's amazing that he hasn't given up on me completely as a result - but when he does, it's a gentle, knowing sort of exasperation that only a father who is desperately trying to impart some wisdom onto a stubborn daughter can give. "Erin," he said. "You just don't know how to relax." As he is with most things concerning me, he was right. And I knew it as he said it. I have spent every subsequent vacation trying hard - Really! Hard! - to relax as a result. Remind me to tell you about my honeymoon and how I spent the majority of it with a headache so bad that I ended up in the emergency room the day after we landed on American soil. Turned out? Not a tumor. Or anything at all. It was decided later - much later - that my headache was most likely the physical manifestation of the stress of realizing that perhaps I shouldn't have just done what I'd gone and done. But Virginia was different. Obviously, I was different. Something fundamental shifted inside of me without realizing it. I suppose it was naive, really, to think that anyone could have experienced what I experienced and not have changed. But the immediate changes were so dramatic, so massive, that to think about subtle transformation was more than I could digest.
So perhaps that's why on a hot September day, two years later, overlooking a vineyard in Warreton, Virgina, I suddenly understood why I'd been making all of these changes in my life. We'd just finished another hour of wine tasting with a goodly number of Scott's friends, though, and I'm sure they'll testify to this, there was little denying that we really only had our attention on each other. Since my promotion weeks earlier, we'd barely seen one another. I work nights - late nights - and weekends, too. Scott and I made time for each other best we could, but quality interaction was all but impossible. Getting wrapped up in each other that weekend made sense, and I was grateful for it. I was grateful to feel relaxed, to feel happy, to feel Scott's arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him for a hug or kiss on the forehead every few minutes. To feel content. I am certain, as I am of anything, that I have never been a contented person and I've been running after contentment, sure that it comes in any form that I don't currently possess, sure that it's something you can run after in the first place. Usually that means a job, or a possession, but rarely ever myself. I've never been able to sit still, and be happy with who I am and what I am and what I have in my life. I look for more, for bigger, for better. In that moment, I began to ask myself what I was doing in a job that took me away from the life that brought me more solace than any fancy business card ever could. What was I gaining from all that time away from my friends and family, from Scott, most importantly. This moment had a gestational period. The Monday before we left for Virgina, as we drifted off to sleep, all I could think about was Wednesday, when I was scheduled to return to work, and I felt the most terrifying panic attack set in. Not simply because of the nagging uncertainty I'd been harboring about the job itself, but moreover because I knew it would be several days again until I'd get to fall asleep next to Scott and that was unacceptable to me. I know what that sounds like, what that sort of statement from a woman always sounded like to me, but now I'm listening with different ears, I guess. The life I thought I wanted isn't what I want. I don't want to be defined by my chosen career field any longer. I want to be defined by the walks I take with my dog, the prayers I give up to God, the nights spent throwing back martinis with my girlfriends, the runs I take in my neighborhood, the work and joy and love that comes from my relationships. ***** I quit my job yesterday. Make no mistake, I'm not off to join an ashram, just to a job with a schedule that allows me to spend time with the people who mean the most to me. I'm lucky in that I found a place that not only will allow me a normal schedule, but also new challenges and excitement. And a gym. There is a gym. I am a sucker for any employment opportunity that includes cardio equipment. I start very soon. ***** I do not know that if you had seen me on the orange line a few weeks ago you would have been able to notice what I brought home with me from Virgina, if you would have noticed that I brought back my life. You would have had to have known my life was gone in the first place, and I barely realized it myself. But now it's here, and I've adjusted the angle of things, so that when I shift, when I lean, it remains. Posted by Erin at 01:36 AM | | filed under: Odds and ends Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Kanye discussion
We watched the "Nightline" piece on Kanye West last night, mostly because we're gluttons for punishment and because there is nothing Scott and I like to do more than volley snarky jeers at pompous pop stars when they refer to themselves as "geniuses" while showing off racks of clothing that contain not one, not two, not three, but at least ten button-down shirts in the same shade of gray. But I like Kanye's music, and as far as I'm concerned you're going to be hard-pressed to find a much more awesome song than "Touch The Sky" off of "Late Registration." It's hard, though, to divorce the artist and the music when the artist makes it so damn hard. And Kanye really does. I don't want my irritation for his public persona to color my feelings for his music. Just the same, I may agree with him that Dubya doesn't care about black people but he really punked out poor Mike Meyers with that one, and no one should leave Austin Powers holding the bag like that. Scott's going to let me burn "Graduation" because, natch, he has it. He has his own feelings about the album, in fact, so does our good friend, Matt Wood. I don't know how this came about, but these two decided to dissect Kanye's latest effort, and while I'm biased because one of the authors is my most favorite person on earth, and the other is a good friend (I'll let you figure out which is which), the writing is as solid as anything you're going to find by any rock critic. Matt: Missing Credits Posted by Erin at 05:03 PM | | filed under: Blog move Thursday, September 20, 2007
Letting others do the work for me
Clearly I can't be bothered to update my Web site these days, what with the insane schedule that I keep. It's hard to work until 1 a.m., hunched over a computer for hours on end, and then want to return home to crank out a little ditty here. I do occasionally think of things I want to talk about, but then I get distracted by something shiny and forget what it was. I'm going to start keeping notes in the Treo to improve the situation. For now, I'm going to shamelessly pimp my boyfriend and his work. If there are two qualities I love about Scott it is that he manages to be both drop-dead hysterical and incredibly kind and compassionate. Oftentimes you don't get that combination in a person, or at least you don't if you're me. Mostly because what I consider to be drop-dead hysterical is usually not what most people find to be drop-dead hysterical. One of these days I'll have to share with you my favorite joke. Anyway, Scott recently came up with the idea to test out non-alcoholic beer as an online-companion piece to The Beer Issue of the magazine. We went to two different stores to secure all this beer and what came out of our efforts was so funny that tears ran down my face reading yesterday, and one of the guys in the newsroom caught me and asked what was so funny. So near beer, yet so far was the culprit. As an addendum to this story, Scott thought it might be funny to post the remaining "beers" on Craigslist to see if anyone wanted them. I think more than 15 people contacted him. The winner went to a guy who was looking to cheer up his buddy suffering from liver cancer and "missed the taste of beer." I thought it was a bunch of baloney, and emphasized how much I wanted Scott to meet this guy in a well-lit area, but Scott trusted his instincts and figured he was a decent guy. They met at a coffee shop and made the exchange; sure enough, Scott was right. Seeing people these days has been rough; Scott and I fit in time when we can. He usually meets me on the train at night, riding with me until we get to my stop, where he then waits with me for my bus home. It's probably one of the most considerate gestures ever made on my behalf and it makes my day when I see him hop on my car when it's almost midnight. Posted by Erin at 08:09 AM | | filed under: Blog move Monday, September 10, 2007
Best Friends
Scott and I returned last night from a weekend in Virginia. Two friends of his from college were married Sunday at a beautiful B&B in Falls Church, and there was bacon. I mean, that's not all there was, to be sure, but it was a brunch reception and therefore piles of bacon were bestowed onto us and lo it was all good. Except for the part where the federal government thinks that my boyfriend is a terrorist. He has one of the most common, generic last names in the world, so, obviously, he's threat to national security. Early, easy check-in is not an option for him. It's not a huge pain-in-the-ass, but it is amusing to know he's on A List. This trip was one of the best vacations I've had in I-don't-know-how-long and I'll figure out how to put it into words, and why, soon. We had so much fun. For now I am sad to be back to my real world, but happy to be back to my dog. Kate sent us pictures of the girl all weekend via cell phone, which Scott and I shared with everyone as they came in, which solidified for them what a crazy, nut job dog person I truly am. Whatever. Love my dog! Posted by Erin at 10:48 AM | | filed under: Glin Monday, September 03, 2007
Wedding revelations
Last night at my best friend Ali's wedding, I learned two things: 1) Scott can breakdance. And well. Ali was pretty much expecting Scott to cut a rug at her reception, having seen him in action before. You have to understand that it isn't just that Scott will actually get out there and attempt to dance. No, no. He actually can dance. During "Footloose," as a huge circle was formed on the dance floor, and after a few guys had jumped in the middle, Scott went in and got down on the ground and began to spin his legs underneath himself before getting up, skipping around the entire circle of people, slapping their hands, and then doing the splits. The move James Brown was known for. Twice. The entire floor erupted into cheers and I couldn't have been more proud. 2) Earlier before the ceremony, I met Scott in the lobby of the hotel. I hadn't seen him since the evening before as I stayed with Ali in the bridal suite after the rehearsal dinner. I walked off the elevator and into the lobby. His eyes lit up and he told me how beautiful I looked, which was sweet and welcomed. We began to talk about other things when he stopped me and said: "If I was single and was just meeting you, I would totally try to pick you up at this wedding." That's the kind of reaction you want to get when it took four hours, two hairdressers, 30-some odd bobby pins, cans of hairspray and piles of makeup to get you that way. It's always nice to get a reward for all of your efforts. The wedding was stunning and a grand time was had by all. I am not one to get all emotional and weepy, but it's mind-boggling to realize my best friend is married now. Posted by Erin at 01:28 PM | | filed under: Odds and ends |
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