Colin - Ya Shouldn't Have Done That!

There are words that could be said here, but instead I'll let the ecards speak.

Seriously Mr. Darcy, Seriously?
-e

V is for Victory

Remember, Remember the seventh of December
My final class, finished & fought,
I see no reason why my final class
Should ever be forgot

I finished my final class for my master's degree today!!! In the eternal words of my best friend in High School upon scoring goals in water polo - You Know!! In 2 hours I hand-wrote 10 pages on ethical reasoning in regards to poverty, capital punishment and just economics. I am a final writing machine! I still have to finish my thesis, but all "class" work is D-O-double-N-E... done!!!!

So, now I feel like I just won the Karate Championship Light-Weight Title,



or scored the winning goal in the Women's Soccer World Cup.



Or perhaps, my feelings are so full that if expressed completely they would terrify the Queen of Daytime herself (see example below):


Now, a message to my thesis.

Dear Thesis,

I need to tell you something. If you knew what was good for you, you'd run...fast. Hell, I'll give you a 5 minute head start, and when I catch you I'm going to grab you by your devil horns, pull you real close and whisper these words in your godless ears... "say my name thesis. SAY IT!"

The time for your little games is over Thesis. No more messing around with me. No more holding me down. No more! The die has been cast and you are going to be a funny little footnote on my Epic ass!

Okay She-Bitch, Let's Play
-E

Girl with the Lost Pearl Earing

Sad days!

I have officially lost one of my favorite pearl earrings. I know, I'm totally lame for wearing pearl earrings all the time. Once, while wearing said pearl stud earrings my friend made a side comment about how snooty elitist women wear pearl earrings and cardigan sweater sets, which I wear both, often and regularly. Anyways, these earrings were of particular significance because my parents gave them to me for Christmas on my 21st year. They go with a necklace my paternal Russian grandmother (Baba - for those in the know) left me when she passed away. So, this thanksgiving the left-stud went MIA. I have yet to find it - searching every corning and clothing item in my house - like the proverb of the old woman who lost her coin, except it's a pearl earring and I haven't found it. I've mostly given up now. But, this blog is sent out in hopes that maybe, someday my pearl earring will come back to me.

In Memoriam

The Earring 11.22.06

Returning to Things I Love

Friends, I am returning to things I have cherished all or most of my life. I care deeply about these three things and I want them back. These are all things that I have given too little of a care, that ends now. For all time, I will be known as one who has deep affinity for: Church, Reading and Amy Grant.

1. Church

We have found a church in Cambridge!!!! After many months of going back and forth between two spectacular churches Brett and I have decided to attend the Cambridge location of the Greater Boston Vineyard. We love the services and the people who attend the church. We are excited about all the opportunities the church affords to work in the community. They love art and community and worship and authenticity and multiculturalism and justice and so so so many things we love too. It feels good to have a place that may someday feel like home. Brett and I have never really done the whole 'we have a church home' thing since we got married. We both loved and served our church in Davis together. So, technically we've had the same church home. However, we are making this church decision together, and it feels very different and adventuresome. I am excited about getting to know people from the area and having friends who are not only 23-30 years old. I am thankful to Jesus for providing a place where we feel at peace and can worship with ease. The church exterior is nothing too special - tan brick, which would look special in California, but not in New England. However, the interior is truly magnificent. The church used to be a home to a local Catholic Church, though for some reason or other the membership dwindled and the building was sold to the Vineyard. They reconfigured the sanctuary so the congregation faces the back of the original building and enters/mingles through the alter area. The church service literally occurs in the narthex - an image I read about in seminary about how church really occurs in the area where people are meeting and catching up - in the narthex. A member of the church took some of these, you can find more at (http://flickr.com/photos/radioflyer007/page55/)

2. Amy Grant.

Now I know that many scoff and roll-eyes at the fallen Christian Music Diva. Something about her moral decisions over the last few years have made some church-going folk turn their backs of this pop-Christian celeb - shame. All that aside, Brett and I have been foraging through our house trying to find her Christmas CDs - always an Arnold staple during the holidays. Ms. Grant has a special place in our home. Before Brett and I were dating he would "just happen" to come over to my house with his roommate/friend Matt who was dating a roommate of mine, Joy. Brett would pass the time watching Letterman or amusing me by lip-syncing and dancing to Amy's rendition of El Shaddai. So, after much searching I have found her and welcome her back with open arms. She is now delighting our holiday ears.





3. Reading

I can't wait to read again. I have been into reading for pleasure more since moving out to Mass. But, while I am cramming for tests to finish this final class and struggling to focus on writing/conceptualizing my thesis I sit with longing for novels. I love fiction. I love love love it. All types of stories - maybe that's why I like therapy so much, it consists primarily of stories. Well, I read a blog/column by the pastor of the Vineyard church Dave, and I couldn't agree more. He put what I believe about reading so succinctly. And in doing so, pretty much sealed the deal with Brett and my continued investment at his church. Here's a blurb for all our enjoyment:

I have a theory about why we want to read books-why we want to read them, not why we actually might read a given book. We want to read books because reading books is a unique kind of fun. There's a unique pleasure in reading something longer than this column, of connecting with another consciousness in a sustained way, and that strikes me as being a pleasure that connects to what it means to be alive.
...
One of my favorite questions to ask my friends is, "What are you reading?" Now a lot of my friends don't read very much at all, and there's nothing wrong with spending time on, say, people. But for those in my circle who do take the odd hour here or there, there are always books about God or church in some form, but that's a subject for another day. Men, in particular, tend to abandon reading fiction (too trivial) in favor of job-related or general non-fiction. And there's no shame in that, but today let us praise trivial books-most fiction, for instance. Let us praise books you don't have to read, that promise you nothing more than the most primary reason we read at all-not so much to be informed as to connect, to-in the words of Shadowlands-know that we're not alone. ((to read more see: http://www.bostonvineyard.org/davescolumns/dec06/))

Amen Brother!

Here are a few books I intend to read when this crazy thing called grad-school is completely finished: (If you have any more suggestions on good fiction/non-fiction reading I would love love love to hear from you!)

I'll end with the immortal words of Brett's favorite fiction writer: Mark Twain.

"Good friends, good books: this is the ideal life."

Erin.

Thanks to the Giving

My mom, dad and brother came to visit us in Cambridge for 10 days over this past week. It was super fun - adventures and laughs a plenty. We walked the Freedom Trail, went to some great restaurants, toured the U.S.S. Constitution (from which point my father referred to my brother as 'powder monkey', not to be outdone my 6'3" brother responded by calling my 5'11" father 'short stack'), visited Lexington/Concord & Plymouth, and of course ate a huge feast. Here are some pictures from our time together.

Me and the turkey named Tom. I will never understand why people insist on naming things they are about to eat. My mom was quite disappointed that when we went to put the turkey in the pan my kitchen was sans cooking string - as if I tie up birds and vegetables all the time. Without the proper string we combined our creative energy to come up with the chop-stick turkey. Notice my hair - dressing like food is so in this season.

In this picture my father is posing next to a stranger's truck like Nacho Libre. You should know that as this picture was being taken Dad was saying "these are my recreation pants, my robes were stinky".

Mikey and me in front of the USS Constitution in the Boston Harbor. My bro is really growing up, everyone should have a brother 9 years their junior. Highlight: sitting next Mike in the backseat while he tried to trap me with a blanket in his fart cloud which he assure me smelt like roses.
Mom and me in Plymouth. My mommie is so pretty. And she would be glad to know that while this was her first trip out east, I totally agree with her that she is from New England.

I love my family and miss them lots.

The Maui Misadventures Revealed

Enjoy this video best-friend-Holly took during one of our Maui misadventures last year in Hawaii. I was inspired by my parents recent foray into the blogworld giving pertinent information about their condo. For more information on Hawaiian Misadventures see: http://hollytopfive.blogspot.com/2005_12_01_hollytopfive_archive.html

Baptism of a Foodie

I have been sanctified & bathed in the 'holy water' of artisan cheeses and fine foreign wines. A few days ago I got a little mis-directed coming home from Newton, Mass and came upon a cheese and speciality grocery store four blocks from my house. I knew right away that I had to take my mother there once she was in town. Well, Mother and I were on our way to buy some thanksgiving dinner items from Trader Joe's when I suggested we stop over for a little morsel of cheese from this random cheese shop. One should know that this little stop became a 2 hour voyage into the recesses of cheesedom and back again. Mom and I drank deep with delight as we meandered among intoxicating ripening aromas. We sampled expensive wines paired with olives and goat/cow/sheep cheeses - we were told by an excentric middle-aged connesuire of all things formaggio that the wine and cheese-cows were raised on the same earth, making them partners from their conception... seriously!? With or without the kookie wine taster we raised our glass high to a particular pairing of a semi-soft french cheese with a chardonnay from the hills of Champagne that turned sweet on our palates. Little to say, for all of you who love cheese and love me (equally or with partiality) you MUST come to Cambridge and be swept up into the fray of Formaggio Kitchen (http://formaggio-kitchen.com/index.php). Happy cows may come from California, but happy cheese comes from Cambridge, Mass.


This day I lived out the most wise words of my father: If it's free, take two.


Erin.

Twisted Old Eucalyptus

Everyone, do yourselves a great favor and sample to buy the newest album Reprieve by the righteous babe herself: Ani DiFranco. I am particularly sad tonight because I missed her show in Boston this evening. However, I have her lyrics to keep me warm. She says things about humans, their lives and their rights. There are few singer/songwriters who speak with as much honesty as Ms. DiFranco. I think it behooves us to listen. She is poetic and beautiful and strong and pregnant... but more than anything she is real. Here is a taste of why I love her:


This is the cover of Reprieve. It is an artistic rendering of the picture below. This tree is special because it was photographed in Nagasaki days after the atomic bombing. To the photographer (Yamahata) and the many other viewers since 1945 the half-dead tree is symbolic for resilience and hope.


I have measured and found her wanting for nothing,
Erin

A Musical Recantation

In the last four years I would like to think that I have become a connoisseur of tasty music. Music is a tricky thing - it mingles the best and worst that pop culture has to offer. For instance, best = lyrical genius of Over the Rhine/Joni Mitchell, melodious stylings of Jason Mraz and prophetic kick-ass rock of U2, worst = most of Stacy Ferguson's solo jams, mind-numbing slam metal, and the production, consumption and representation of anything remotely connected to Popozao.

I love being a part of the musical elite. I think this is because I spent most of my young life being musically illiterate - I once traded by oh-so-hip-sister a Beatles album for a Debbie Gibson tape... ouch. It wasn't until late high school with the charisma of Bono and slurred jams of DMB that I awoke. Then it took years of listening and gentle guidance to become an elitist. Still, many years later I continue to owe most of my iTunes library to the great gifting of those music snobs, who taught my heart to palpitate upon the utterance of the phrase 'So, have you heard ____?' To keep up my musical education I even subscribe the to very witty and increasingly racy music magazine Blender. (Word to the Wise: do not, I repeat, DO NOT have your shady magazines forwarded to your husband's honest lovely innocent agrarian parent's home in California (see cover of Ms. Aguilera)... shame only scratches the surface of my experience when receiving this issue in Massachusetts with my father-in-law's handwritten address correction).

All that to say that today I must retract all previous claims to musical superiority.I am a fake, a fraud, a disgrace - I broke the cardinal rule of music connoisseurs - I self-reflected. And now all that is left is a shell of a previous musical elitist. I have realized the great folly at my assumptions to know better than the general listener. I have fallen, like many, into a common trap of the musically conscious: I have come to assume that things that are mass produced have been tainted by "the man", which renders them to be nothing less than an abomination to my ears. One such artist has become prey to my haughty and unconscionable preconceptions: Mr. Michael Buble. I assumed that his mommy demographic, Sinatra-wanna-be ways and bubble-sounding surname constituted a singer who's art was beneath me. Friends, I was wrong - he is a crooning delight. I wish I could pass my apologies along to Mr. Buble. My mockery of him while viewing his cameo on Brett and my favorite t.v. guilty pleasure Las Vegas lead me down a path that ended with the purchase of his Holiday Let It Snow EP. (understand that I recognize that the previous sentence was filled with many mock worthy confessions 1. I watch Las Vegas often and regularly, 2. Said NBC drama lead me to sample cameo stars' on iTunes, 3. I purchased a Holiday CD months before Christmas and intended to begin listening stat).

The Aesop message for other elitists is this: don't listen to me when I mock mainstream artists and do not fall victim of the same prejudiciary predisposition. Also, listen to Michael Buble when taking long baths, making out with boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife, enjoying yuletide cheer, and sucker-punching yourself for being close minded.


I plan to begin a new chapter in my musical education. I intend to be open and gracious and picky. To honestly and earnestly assess the notes and lyrics that pass my way, taking the indie-folk-rock with the buttery-glossy-pop - without unnecessary meanness or prejudice. I will listen until my eyes bleed, this I promise.

Sorry K-Fed - you're still out,
Erin

The Blog Returns

So, it's already the fall here in New England - and i'm a tool because my posting has consisted of nothing more than a lame midnight post on packing and a video flashback. But, sadly I have not much better today. A picture of us in the fall colors along the Minuteman Trail. I post this so y'all readers know that Brett and I are still alive and kickin'.
We went to Maine to see the colors and take a mini-break. It was beautiful, I highly suggest it.

That's all for now.
Will write again when I have something to say.

Erin

An Uncanny Resemblance

for all of you who missed my childhood: just replace her brown hair with white-blonde and you have Erin circa 1988! (sorry friends, this video has become unaccesable due to copyright infringement - you will have to take my word for it, I have found my childhood voice's doppelgänger)

Just Picture My East Coast Life

Note: I am not in the habit of making caveats for lack of humor, but this will NOT be funny - do not expect to laugh or cry or have experience any outlayers of the emotional bell curve. The blogging world has eaten a few of my blogs - so I now resist the urge to re-create something I have already spent time upon. However, I want you all to know the goodness of these past weeks in their pure picture form with minimal comment.

SEPTEMBER:




Apple picking in Western Mass with the DeJongs was so much fun - Cara and I even canned our own applesauce.


Brett is excited because he's about to fill the bag he's holding with 1/2 bushel of apples.









Best-friend JR and husband Cameron visited Boston. Pumpkin-Spice lattes, the Freedom Trail and best friends are more than a recipe for a good good time. We love the Jones’ & Freedom!









Went to Fenway Park with Harvard students & friend Matt DeJong! So fun! I am officially a fan of the Sox - including the Green Monster and Big Papi. I’ve been warned that if I get too close they’ll ‘break my haa’t” - I'm a little afraid.

OCTOBER:

New Harvard friends at a Cranberry Bog in Cape Cod - we love Agritourism!


We met with friend Dave in New York City where he lives and attends NYU law. We took this picture with magazines that were written in NYC or with NYC in mind. We assume that this proves that our location is New York, not let's say... Davis, CA.


I'm in a Book Club with ladies from the Boston area, organized by the great and illustrious Cara DeJong (pictured to my immediate left). It is so much fun! Last month we read The Other Boleyn Girl - - - daring and delcious. This month we're reading a memoir caled Miracle in the Andes - - - haven't read it yet, but everyone who isn't a big slacker like me is saying "omg, erin you have to read this book, it is changing my life, seriously!".... so I guess we all should read it (I haven't heard such lofty claims since Ms. Portman's review of the Shins) So, read... and read non-school literature (either assigned or themed) it's good for you and will make you more human, I promise.

Till we meet again,
Erin

Cambridge... and other things to talk about more.
Hi friends. Just a quick little note to say that Brett and I have arrived safely in Cambridge, Massachusetts. We have some sweet digs and are spending all the time I should be spending writing my thesis organizing the house. We are thrilled to be in this place of elitist learning, opinionated sales-people, east-coast sarcasm, and real honest-to-god seasons. We do not have internet or a land line or good t.v. reception - but that's okay because I've always wanted to live in the 1900's. Anyways, we are missing all our California friends and family. More on all of this later - for now I have to leave my current post (sitting in front of a closed cafe/local grocery that has free wireless) and return home to unpack salad tongs into a drawer.

Love Love Love from the Eastside.

Beware of flying babies and magical wands...

This is a little note sharing a bit of my spiritual experience in Oxford - land of over-educated Brits, high-walled gardens and inspiration. With Brett and I preparing to move to Cambridge, MA I am taking a moment to marvel at another city making home to an institution of elitist learning. C.S. Lewis and Lewis Carroll may turn in their graves at the notion that my favorite part of their shire of goodness was neither the second Lewis' luscious college gardens nor the first Lewis' old pint shop (the Bird and the Baby also called the Eagle and Child -
disturbing cameo on the placard outside the pub showing a Baby flying away with a large bird - like in some act of benevolence this beast of nature picked up the baby from it's slumber with its ginormous talons - seriously?!). This place - this place of bestial babycide - was not my absolute favorite. For some of you this may not be any surprise, because you do not know that I believe that C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien are two of the finest literary minds of all time. For others this might come as a suprise - knowing my deep and undying love from Lewis' wordsmithing non-fiction and Tolkien's hero development. This place of so much literary history and inspiration might have been the "it" place for me in Oxford, but alas it was not.

The highlight came when, after turning a corner into the New College cloisters (by the way American needs to get on the cloister train - they are wicked cool and soothingly serene little courtyards - i want one), I entered a realm of enchanted creatures, wands and children. While not impressive to some people, walking straight into a set from the Harry Potter films was a bit more than magical for me. Here below is a picture of me under a tree where .... well watch Movie 3 and find out for yourself. (actually this tree is featured in Movie 4 (thanks Hols), but watch both movies and be doubly pleased) I am giddy and happy in this picture. A friend of mine says it looks like I'm trying to hijack some nice kid's senior picture, but really it's just my dorky self full of the excitement that only the close proximity to anything truly Potter-esc brings. (My Religious Study Prof from college said that adding 'esc' to the end of words makes anyone sound smarter... so true L.D., so true)

Do not judge me on this account - I love Harry Potter to a degree that is almost laughable ... and I'm comfortable with it. Also, I want to document a moment in time when I was genuinely pleased to be in the place where I stood, because this is currently not the case. I am so tired of being not home. Brett and I have been mostly homeless and in moving limbo for almost 2 months now. The closer we are getting to moving the more anxious and sad I am becoming. I do not like living out of a suitcase - neither the part where I can't find that specific tank-top I want in the piles of uck nor the symbolic representation of having no where to put my shtuff. Though, I must remember that while it sucks right now it will all be over in a week, people suffer much more than me (not finding the right piece of apparel doesn't hold a candle to, let's say mass poverty, the effects of global economy on Indian basket-weavers, or the AIDS crisis), and it is okay that I am sad about moving and being without a space. Space is important - though the over-usage of "space" as a metaphysical concept can be quite irritating, I being a major perpetrator here. So, in the literal sense I will be coming into a fine 800 approximate square feet of Cambridge space in one week (Aug. 12), hopefully some metaphysical space is included in the absurdly high rent.

However, I am being a huge downer - so I will lighten our mood here with something that might become a mainstay of Avoiding the Inevitable- quotes from Jason Mraz's own blog/journal. Not only do his words bounce off the walls like ping-pong balls on glass jars at a county fair, but they are my favorite way to avoid whatever inevitable activity is waiting at my door (like my thesis at the present). So, while I am so melancholy I will entice us with little J-raz, as he discusses his euphoria (circa May 2006). Enjoy his toolishness - and feel at liberty to say at any point and often, "seriously Jason? seriously?!?":


I’ve been feeling so thumbs up lately. Actually, the last 58 days in a row have been the best my life has seen. Not one dull moment. For almost two months I have experienced pure joy. Like some wise Yogi came up and pressed my forehead and opened my third eye. My consciousness is expanding, said one of my teachers. Not a day goes by from now that I don’t wake up and do a soft shoe across my floor, dancing to a song in my heart, wearing nothing but a smile...

Can freshness &/or wearing Euro-shorts be considered a crime?
Apparently the self-proclaimed wizard of oohs and ahhs and falalas doesn't think so....
Your thoughts.

Too many people blog. It’s almost infuriating the amount of blogging that goes on these days - from mySpace tweenies and trekkies to B-list rock stars and presidential candidates! In the world of competing voices why should you listen to me?!? I know I like the sound of my own voice, but... So, blogging is becoming our new national pass-time. Actually, I think the word 'blog' was once the national word of the year - if there is such a thing, I think there is; and 'podcast' was this year's word (if I am not mistaken). The damn internet and making up words. My husband and best friend are always telling me that I make up too many words - mainly making verbs out of nouns. But, if the internet has no problem with it, neither do I. But, I digress - blogs. While there are so many blogs out there that my eyes bleed and my retinas burn at the sight of them, I have decided to join their ranks with an obligatory blogging apology note (as many bloggers begin). Perhaps the blog apology is suggested of beginning bloggers - albeit required by those snooty self-aware falsely modest folk who scoff at the production of words merely for self-publicity. So, I will not apologize, for I have never been ashamed of self-publicity and I am always interested in what people say about/for themselves. So, maybe this is a study is self-awareness and publication or just the modest musings of someone who will be missing her friends who are far away and needs messages in binary code to connect to them... either way I embark on a new literary quest. I make no promises here, nor do I make any apologies. Love and Lit for all!