Last night, I was sprawled over my bed at home - legs hanging over one side, majority of my torso and up over the other side - holding a Foxtrot comic book above my head and emitting small, quiet chuckles to myself... for an hour or two. (I don't care how old I get, I still think Jason could take over the world... if his Mom would just let him.) However, once I sat back up and let the blood flow back to the rest of my body, saying "no" to the little black spots that wanted me to pass out, "just for a bit", it occurred to me that I used to spend time in my old bedroom working madly on the following:
A book - which would somehow bring out that deeper side of me that *I* didn't even know existed.
Well... that, or the greatest piece of Fan Fiction the world has ever seen! (That's right, I went there.)
A Cunning Plan... but for what, I still haven't devised.
A premature "Bucket List", if you will, including the scaling of Mount Everest (after I retire) and the completion of one of the world's greatest Ultra Marathons in South Africa, home of a "hill" named "Polly" that's guaranteed to bring even the most hardened street pounder to a walk.
A means to somehow compete in the Olympics in the following events: Track and Field (I'd learn quickly), Soccer, and Field Hockey, and heck, if they needed an extra man anywhere, they could just give me a shout. (Except for swimming... I'm about as buoyant as a very large rock, and slower than a typical participant in Senior Swim Day.) Gold Medals would be won and accepted humbly, saying only that I've admired the world's athletes at these games since I could remember, and how bloody BRILLIANT it was that I could simply compete against them.
To pull together a ragtag group of misfits and outsiders and pull off the greatest heist the world has ever seen... using only our collective, natural talents.... and duct tape.
To acknowledge that I used to spell "duct tape" - "duck tape" ... oh, good, look, I can cross one of these off!
And... finally:
To find, rescue (or at least, help out *grumble grumble*) my true love, and live happily ever after.
At age 7... or 8... or 17... the majority of these still seemed highly possible. Forgetting, of course, though, the cunning plan - "cunning" and "Dani Meier" probably don't belong in the same sentence. At 20... it's interesting to see what I'd still like to have under my belt by the time I... (insert death euphemism *here*), whenever that happens. 50, 60, 10 years? It'd be nice to go smiling. (This entry is rapidly becoming more morbid by the minute - what I'm trying to say is that my priorities have changed.)
thank you, after thoughts.
For instance, I'd still love to write that book. And I have a pretty decent idea of what I'd be banging out on my computer, or in my notebook, if I ever sat down to it. And I'd also like one day run ... or crawl... up Polly. True Love? We'll see. A friend once told me that only a man can make the same mistake twice... well... if that's true, women must be able to do that multiple times... if a mistake is a mistake, begging your pardon. When I was 7, I had no idea that I'd choose an instrument bigger than I am and use it to pursue a career... I still thought I had dormant superpowers and it was only a matter of a few years (and puberty) before I could join the X-Men. 13 years ago, I thought I was adopted, for pete's sake, just because I couldn't find any baby pictures of me around the house. (They were hidden... or, at least, "stored", which means the same thing in this house.)
The point is... at two decades of life, maybe I shouldn't be reading comics upside down on top of my old bed at home, instead of working diligently to accomplish what I used to think would fulfill my entire being, my entire purpose. However... I've worked hard at what I'm pretty damn sure is the right road for me right now... and I think I deserve to lean back and let the blood rush to my head a bit more.
Just for fun.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Mozart muddles, Beethoven befuddles, and family... what?
On a particular trip on a particular Sunday, involving an entire particular family on one particular bus on its way to a particular place... (I'm done now, I'm swear)... I had a... *certain* conversation with a certain person. Prior to my decision to go to Indiana University as a music major, he'd had... doubts, we'll call them - about that route, that career. In all fairness, I think he had me pegged as going into the whole athletic shebang, and I didn't get really serious about the music performance idea until my senior year of high school.
... end of fairness.
I won't lie, the *last* time we discussed my career, I was less than fond of my him. Irritated, which I am rarely with family. That's all we'll say about that.
This conversation, however - complete 180. Unfortunately, not in the sense that it made me warm to him anymore, but in the manner that he was addressing me. Out of nowhere, (at least, to me) he became an afficianado of classical music. Had been listening for years and years, was a huge fan, everyday to and fro in the daily grind and wind would have it blasting out his car and home stereos. Mostly classical period - you know, the lighter stuff, the Bach and Mozart and Handel - he's a big fan of Handel.
... huh.
I don't want to pull the "shenanigans" card - it's family, after all, and who am I to say "baloney with extra ketchup" to my clan? Blood is supposedly thicker than water, stronger than old grudges or old wounds, and I'm sure that he loves me as one of his many relations for who I am and what I do. This feels like a Surgeon General's warning, or some sort of disclaimer, I know. Bear with me, I have a point.
And... here it is: Whether you are the local expert or the village idiot on a certain *anything*, please - for the love of GOD - do not pretend to be anything other than you are. In other words, there are enough pretentious people out there, possibly insecure and anxious to prove their worth and their knowledge. It's a bad spot to be in, worrying that someone will think less of you for perhaps not knowing everything about everything and anything. Help yourself out and portray yourself honestly, and I sincerely doubt that people will cast you down and ostracize you for not knowing, say, metronome markings to Beethoven scores.
... at least, I won't. Hell, I don't even know those.
(I probably should... but that's not up for discussion.)
Maybe I'm completely wrong on this, and our latest conversation, this person and I, was a valid, from the heart interest in the life that I've chosen. In that case, I apologize and I need to stop being so cynical on this front. However... please don't come to me with guidance and advice about what I should listen to, play, look for in my *life*... when you weren't so um... fond... of that choice a few short semesters ago. It reminds me far too much of an image of a confident, arrogant young rookie coming up to a seasoned veteran, saying with a smile and a wink:
"Try it this way - I've been doing this for years."
... end of fairness.
I won't lie, the *last* time we discussed my career, I was less than fond of my him. Irritated, which I am rarely with family. That's all we'll say about that.
This conversation, however - complete 180. Unfortunately, not in the sense that it made me warm to him anymore, but in the manner that he was addressing me. Out of nowhere, (at least, to me) he became an afficianado of classical music. Had been listening for years and years, was a huge fan, everyday to and fro in the daily grind and wind would have it blasting out his car and home stereos. Mostly classical period - you know, the lighter stuff, the Bach and Mozart and Handel - he's a big fan of Handel.
... huh.
I don't want to pull the "shenanigans" card - it's family, after all, and who am I to say "baloney with extra ketchup" to my clan? Blood is supposedly thicker than water, stronger than old grudges or old wounds, and I'm sure that he loves me as one of his many relations for who I am and what I do. This feels like a Surgeon General's warning, or some sort of disclaimer, I know. Bear with me, I have a point.
And... here it is: Whether you are the local expert or the village idiot on a certain *anything*, please - for the love of GOD - do not pretend to be anything other than you are. In other words, there are enough pretentious people out there, possibly insecure and anxious to prove their worth and their knowledge. It's a bad spot to be in, worrying that someone will think less of you for perhaps not knowing everything about everything and anything. Help yourself out and portray yourself honestly, and I sincerely doubt that people will cast you down and ostracize you for not knowing, say, metronome markings to Beethoven scores.
... at least, I won't. Hell, I don't even know those.
(I probably should... but that's not up for discussion.)
Maybe I'm completely wrong on this, and our latest conversation, this person and I, was a valid, from the heart interest in the life that I've chosen. In that case, I apologize and I need to stop being so cynical on this front. However... please don't come to me with guidance and advice about what I should listen to, play, look for in my *life*... when you weren't so um... fond... of that choice a few short semesters ago. It reminds me far too much of an image of a confident, arrogant young rookie coming up to a seasoned veteran, saying with a smile and a wink:
"Try it this way - I've been doing this for years."
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Hey there, Delilah, please move back from New York City...
Dear Plain White T's,
If you really loved Delilah, you'd get your tush to NYC and stop flooding the radio with "Oh, what you do to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee"'s...
I'll show you what you do to me... and I'll show you what I'll do to *you* if you don't knock it off.
Thanks,
Dani Meier
P.S: "You are to blame, you know it's true."
In other news, while biking today at the YMCA, a message flashed across my screen:
"Do or do not, there is no try."
And to think - I was under the impression that he was too short to reach the pedals...
*cough*
"The force is strong with this one - he just bench pressed a small child!"
"No, no, that's his trainer!"
"Well, that explains the cane that he's beating him with..."
If you really loved Delilah, you'd get your tush to NYC and stop flooding the radio with "Oh, what you do to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee"'s...
I'll show you what you do to me... and I'll show you what I'll do to *you* if you don't knock it off.
Thanks,
Dani Meier
P.S: "You are to blame, you know it's true."
In other news, while biking today at the YMCA, a message flashed across my screen:
"Do or do not, there is no try."
And to think - I was under the impression that he was too short to reach the pedals...
*cough*
"The force is strong with this one - he just bench pressed a small child!"
"No, no, that's his trainer!"
"Well, that explains the cane that he's beating him with..."
Monday, May 12, 2008
"I'd like a fat-free, no-carb, no-whip, splenda-substitute, soy-product Hot Chocolate, please."
"Ma'am... [sigh] no. *No*."
"But - what - what - the menu says I can -"
"It is a travesty, a tragedy, and an insult to both mankind *and* hot chocolate. *No*."
"Bu-"
"NO. Bad!"
You know... it just occurred to me that, should you order such a "drink" (though would there be anything actually in the cup?!) such as that 5 years ago, your "barista" or drink-maker-of-choice would either stare blankly at you for a while ("er... I mean..." [as you duck your eyes in shame] "... a medium coffee. Black. Extra-bitterness.") or they'd laugh nervously, wondering how they were going to get the crazy person out of the cafe. It'd be absurd, and I'm pretty positive you'd be ostracized from coffee spots world-wide.
And yet...
at some point in time, someone came along with a fresh cup of joe, shoved it into the unfortunate lunatic's hand, and sat them down somewhere - with comforting eyes and a friendly smile - to say:
"Hey, all that nonsense you came up with a few months ago? About substituting everything that makes up a delicious hot drink with ingredients that don't taste one iota as good? Well, I think you've got a good head on those shoulders... and I want to *do* that."
Before I go any further, I do drink and eat fat-free, no-carb, lacking-in-whip, splenda-substituted food. HOWEVER! I'll be damned before I start using soy. No way - that's a low *so* down there that even I will not deem to stoop to it.
... in any case... there was a definite point where people began deciding that it would be easier to subsitute all of the amazingly delicious, but nutritiously awful food and ingredients with doctored science projects that save US calories while supposedly saving us the taste, as well!
... sometimes.
To be honest, it *is* a good idea... in a way. One of the nicest things about having those substitutions is that you feel that you can still eat the foods that you love, without worrying that you won't be able to fit into your jeans. At the same time - shouldn't we also be focusing on (rather than constantly making substitutions) eating those things in moderation? As in - learning slowly how to love the foods that your body will love you for eating? I'm not talking soy and tofu... necessarily. (Sorry, vegetarians, but I'm a bit of a blood-thirty omnivore, myself.) Fruit. Veggies. Leaner meats. Desserts that do not drown the eater in a sea of chocolate and sugar. Or, at the least - struggling to stay afloat in the sea of chocolate syrup on a few nights a week.
For example... my mother suggested upon my return home from Indiana that I consider writing down everything I eat during the day. Not to lose weight, she pointed out - to be aware of how much I consume during a day. (If you're not aware, apparently I am a tornado of refrigerator destruction.) I'm in good shape right now because I run like a fiend and generally devour massive amounts of say, grapes, as opposed to Pringles, but! For the future, losing the tendency to graze would be good.
("I see a massive grocery bill ... mostly produce...")
so... I figure... I can either substitute with all the finesse of someone who singlehandedly boosts coffeeshop profits, or... I can start to rationalize the amount of food I put away.
Or I can just run more.
...
We'll see.
"But - what - what - the menu says I can -"
"It is a travesty, a tragedy, and an insult to both mankind *and* hot chocolate. *No*."
"Bu-"
"NO. Bad!"
You know... it just occurred to me that, should you order such a "drink" (though would there be anything actually in the cup?!) such as that 5 years ago, your "barista" or drink-maker-of-choice would either stare blankly at you for a while ("er... I mean..." [as you duck your eyes in shame] "... a medium coffee. Black. Extra-bitterness.") or they'd laugh nervously, wondering how they were going to get the crazy person out of the cafe. It'd be absurd, and I'm pretty positive you'd be ostracized from coffee spots world-wide.
And yet...
at some point in time, someone came along with a fresh cup of joe, shoved it into the unfortunate lunatic's hand, and sat them down somewhere - with comforting eyes and a friendly smile - to say:
"Hey, all that nonsense you came up with a few months ago? About substituting everything that makes up a delicious hot drink with ingredients that don't taste one iota as good? Well, I think you've got a good head on those shoulders... and I want to *do* that."
Before I go any further, I do drink and eat fat-free, no-carb, lacking-in-whip, splenda-substituted food. HOWEVER! I'll be damned before I start using soy. No way - that's a low *so* down there that even I will not deem to stoop to it.
... in any case... there was a definite point where people began deciding that it would be easier to subsitute all of the amazingly delicious, but nutritiously awful food and ingredients with doctored science projects that save US calories while supposedly saving us the taste, as well!
... sometimes.
To be honest, it *is* a good idea... in a way. One of the nicest things about having those substitutions is that you feel that you can still eat the foods that you love, without worrying that you won't be able to fit into your jeans. At the same time - shouldn't we also be focusing on (rather than constantly making substitutions) eating those things in moderation? As in - learning slowly how to love the foods that your body will love you for eating? I'm not talking soy and tofu... necessarily. (Sorry, vegetarians, but I'm a bit of a blood-thirty omnivore, myself.) Fruit. Veggies. Leaner meats. Desserts that do not drown the eater in a sea of chocolate and sugar. Or, at the least - struggling to stay afloat in the sea of chocolate syrup on a few nights a week.
For example... my mother suggested upon my return home from Indiana that I consider writing down everything I eat during the day. Not to lose weight, she pointed out - to be aware of how much I consume during a day. (If you're not aware, apparently I am a tornado of refrigerator destruction.) I'm in good shape right now because I run like a fiend and generally devour massive amounts of say, grapes, as opposed to Pringles, but! For the future, losing the tendency to graze would be good.
("I see a massive grocery bill ... mostly produce...")
so... I figure... I can either substitute with all the finesse of someone who singlehandedly boosts coffeeshop profits, or... I can start to rationalize the amount of food I put away.
Or I can just run more.
...
We'll see.
Friday, May 9, 2008
What can I say? All my friends are stuck at school and I'm haunting the internet...
First, Chris... I blatantly copied you. No excuse or beating around the bush - I have literally decided to start my own blog for the sole reason that you have one and it's hilarious. (And deep... oh so deep.) Thus - and you may see where this is going - by writing and keeping up my own, I too will become hilarious. It's foolproof, and I'm sure that you'll agree with me when I say the previous statement is complete baloney.
...*cough*
In any case, all nepotism-leaning tendencies of social success via blog aside, hey there! I'm really not as ridiculously pretentious as I might sound right now, but you see... all my friends are still at school. Now, ordinarily in the hip, happenin' town of Wilmington, Delaware, you could possibly see me out on "the town" - risking my life to go bowling (the adrenaline rush that springs out of the mad sprint from your car to the building is enough to keep you high all night), paying a fifth of my paycheck to catch the latest flick, or ... ...
(hang on, i'm thinking.)
Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it's a lot of fun, as well.
See, getting shot / shooting strikes, or breaking the bank at Regal - those are fun things to do with *people*. At the moment, however, my neck of the woods seems to be lacking that particular element. The nice woman at Wawa might enjoy a good ball-toss, but our five minute conversation over our coffee addictions still doesn't warrant a last second invitation to throw down the pins, if you know what I mean. In other words, Indiana University lets its students out wondrously early - which at first prompts "huzzah's" and much celebration in true college style - but about a week into the consequent "family time" and the absent-minded wandering around the house and around town... alone... that celebration starts to turn into, well... almost frustration. "I'm home!" you want to protest to someone - anyone! "I've finally made it back from the Land of Corn and would like to enjoy the spoils of victory with my loyal compatriots... except... they're... not... Here!!"
I've discovered that the dog is an excellent listener, but you can only rant indignantly for so long before she comes to the conclusion that there will not be, most likely, any treat or ball toss in store for her, and leaves.
In any case - the dog is now officially avoiding me, and in stead of playing the crazy person (playing, you ask? who's *playing?*) and talking to myself, I have discovered my good, old friend, "Mr. Internet".
It's either this or I start making high school aged friends.
"What, you can't come over tonight? Well, why not?! Oh. Curfew and AP test. Gotcha."
...
Yeah... what you're thinking - I'm thinking. I think.
This could be fun, though - getting in touch with myself on that inner, more personal level. That's how it happens, right? The understanding / deep realization thing? You start a blog?
Survey says:...
...*cough*
In any case, all nepotism-leaning tendencies of social success via blog aside, hey there! I'm really not as ridiculously pretentious as I might sound right now, but you see... all my friends are still at school. Now, ordinarily in the hip, happenin' town of Wilmington, Delaware, you could possibly see me out on "the town" - risking my life to go bowling (the adrenaline rush that springs out of the mad sprint from your car to the building is enough to keep you high all night), paying a fifth of my paycheck to catch the latest flick, or ... ...
(hang on, i'm thinking.)
Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it's a lot of fun, as well.
See, getting shot / shooting strikes, or breaking the bank at Regal - those are fun things to do with *people*. At the moment, however, my neck of the woods seems to be lacking that particular element. The nice woman at Wawa might enjoy a good ball-toss, but our five minute conversation over our coffee addictions still doesn't warrant a last second invitation to throw down the pins, if you know what I mean. In other words, Indiana University lets its students out wondrously early - which at first prompts "huzzah's" and much celebration in true college style - but about a week into the consequent "family time" and the absent-minded wandering around the house and around town... alone... that celebration starts to turn into, well... almost frustration. "I'm home!" you want to protest to someone - anyone! "I've finally made it back from the Land of Corn and would like to enjoy the spoils of victory with my loyal compatriots... except... they're... not... Here!!"
I've discovered that the dog is an excellent listener, but you can only rant indignantly for so long before she comes to the conclusion that there will not be, most likely, any treat or ball toss in store for her, and leaves.
In any case - the dog is now officially avoiding me, and in stead of playing the crazy person (playing, you ask? who's *playing?*) and talking to myself, I have discovered my good, old friend, "Mr. Internet".
It's either this or I start making high school aged friends.
"What, you can't come over tonight? Well, why not?! Oh. Curfew and AP test. Gotcha."
...
Yeah... what you're thinking - I'm thinking. I think.
This could be fun, though - getting in touch with myself on that inner, more personal level. That's how it happens, right? The understanding / deep realization thing? You start a blog?
Survey says:...
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