How I Wasted $130

This Summer, when I started making a point of practicing playing guitar regularly, I used to just sit cross-legged on the floor next to my amp to practice. Chillin' hippie style for an hour or so a day was absolutely fine by me...at first.

Then one day, my feet started cramping. The muscles would tense up and they would curl themselves tighter and tighter into themselves. Needless to say, this was excruciatingly painful, but I was determined and I figured that I could power through the agony if it only happened on occasion.

Of course, life doesn't work that way. The cramps became more and more frequent until it started happening almost every day. Luckily, I'd found a way to stop it from happening. All I had to do was stand up and put some weight on it for a few moments. Unfortunately, this had the effect of interrupting me, sometimes several times in one practice session.

It got so bad that I went to the doctor about it. She advised me to get new shoes. And also to stop sitting cross legged. Apparently it can pinch a nerve or something. Of the two explanations she offered, I was more want to believe the one about sitting cross legged. I had, after all, been wearing ballet flats on a daily basis for almost four years with no prior ill effects. So I knew I had to do something about my current practice set up. I decided to take the plunge and buy a chair.

I got the idea of setting up a little "practice corner" in my bedroom, complete with a magazine rack for my music books and a place to keep my guitars, and of course, a comfortable place to sit when I wanted to use them. I looked at dozens of pictures of other people's practice spaces on the Internet to get inspiration for my own. Finally, I settled on a lovely cream leather chair and bought it.

And today? I keep a regular book in the magazine rack. You see, as ridiculous as it is, I've to this day been unable to break the habit of practicing on the floor. So every day, I kneel down right in front of the chair I purchased for this very purpose, and practice my guitar. I find that if I kneel instead of sit cross-legged, my feet don't cramp up the way they used to. However, by the time I'm done practicing, my legs are so thoroughly numb from sitting on them that I usually can't get up right away. And I figure that if I'm stranded on my bedroom floor, I might as well read a book while I'm waiting for my legs to gain the strength to support the rest of my body.

Driving

Call me crazy, but commuting is actually my favorite part of the day. It's just me, my music, and whoever happens to be watching me rock out from the car next to mine when I'm stuck in traffic (which is pretty much inevitable, given my current school schedule).

At church, I only get to sing worship music, and at school, I only get to sing classical. Not that I want or expect things to be any different, but there's just something very liberating about being able to sing along to whatever I want, as loudly and as badly as I want. The only other place I get that kind of freedom is in the shower, and even there, the echo keeps me from ever wanting to go for a crazily high note just to see if I can pull it off.

And then there are the people. They're stuck in traffic, and grouchy, then they look over at me, having a blast being stuck in the same situation. It makes some people even grouchier to see me having so much fun, but every so often it makes the person crack a smile when I make eye contact, grin, and go back to acting as though no one was watching.

The best though, are the days when I'm a little bit angry and it's warm enough to roll down the window. I crank the music and sing along regardless, no doubt sounding like an obnoxious teenager who stumbled here straight from the 80's. To be just a little bit loud and annoying sometimes is such a nice escape from the pathologically polite (seriously, if some one bumps into me, I will apoligize to them), timid person I usually am.

Maybe I'm just nuts, but it all makes me very happy. ^_^

This is Why I Shouldn't Blog when I'm Tired.

For all the years I've spent hanging around me, you would think I'd know me better.

But the more I think about it, the more apparent it's becoming that this is not the case.

I think about what I actually know about myself and if I'm honest, it's not a lot. I know that I like to please people way too much. I know that at some point a long time ago, I actually felt good about my chances at succeeding at life in some way, and I know that now I struggle not to let pessimism hold me back almost every day.

As for the goals that I used to feel so sure I'd accomplish one day, I barely know what they are anymore. What's worse is that for all my uncertainty, I'm almost positive that wherever I do find success, I'll wish for something else once I get there. I can already see that happening in my life now. And the fact that I know how little focus I have terrifies me.

I've always said that I don't care about money so much as living my passions, and I still feel that way, but it's easier said than done when you hardly even know what you want out of life. I just wish I could get my priorities together long enough to get some sort of plan in line for my life, somewhere where I can focus my energy without feeling so doubtful all the time.

If I could just get that...I could go from being kind of okay at lots of things to being really good at whatever it is I need to be good at...and if I could just go to bed, maybe I wouldn't be posting depressing "nobody understands me" teen angst on the internet. But here I am, I guess. Sucks. Just sucks.

Canadian Thanksgiving: Why We Don't Do it the "Normal" Way

So, tomorrow is Canadian Thanksgiving. It's ridiculously early by American standards. Being mostly submersed in American culture as a kid, I used to wonder why we didn't have it in November like the "normal" people down south did. I had several theories: maybe British thanksgiving was in October*, maybe the Natives and the Pilgrims shared meals in Canada first, maybe we were just weird that way.

Now that I'm older, though, Canadian thanksgiving makes a lot of sense. As it turns out, in Canada, Mid-October is a much more suitable time for the holiday than Late November. All of the major elements of this tradtion just work better on the Canadian date (at least for us Canadians).

Foliage:

There's a saying in Canada: "We have two seasons, eh: Winner an' waitin' for Winner." Fall, while not completely non-existant, is extremely short. If we want to frolic in falling leaves, or more to the point, give them to our children to glue on to centerpeices for the kitchen table, we have to do it FAST.

And really, you tell me: which one looks more like Thanksgiving?

Turkey Dinner Satisfaction Ratio:

As you can see from the above diagram, the progression of American statuory holidays (pictured in blue), includes and extended "dry period" at the beggining of the season where turkey dinner satisfaction is at its lowest, due to a lack of turkey dinners, followed by an elongated high period between American Thanksgiving and Christmas. The Canadian progression (pictured in red), follows a more balanced trajectory, with some degree of turky satisfaction throughout the season. 

Giving Thanks:

As sad a commentary as it is, most people don't feel particularly grateful when it's minus forty and we're contending with 7 hours of sunlight or less a day. In Canada, that's most of the time, November 24th included most years.

Which scene makes you feel better about life?

Black Friday: Yeah...we don't do that in Canada. We have Boxing Day on December 26 instead.


See?!?, it's just better, as far as us Canadians are concerned.**

*As it turns out, Canadian Thanksgiving corresponds with the Harvest Festival in Europe, so this childhood assumption wasn't completely wrong. Yay me!
** DISCLAIMER: the contents of this article are intended for humor purposes only. Any offence taken is unintentional and extremely unfortunate.

Redo!

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I could have /should have done differently over the course of my life so far. Not so much to make myself regret the things I've done so far, but more to recognize those choices as mistakes so I don't remake them in the future. Because I don't really feel like doing my homework, I've decided to instead post the list online for everyone to see. Because that is apparently my masochistic brand of fun. So without further ado:

REWIND: 12 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Don't give up on piano lessons! Practice! A lot. You'll use it later.

REWIND: 10 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Look. I know you hate swimming lessons, but you're going to nearly drown three times and have to be rescued by friends over the course of your future life before you give up swimming for your own safety. If you learn to like it, you might be able to save yourself some embarrassment...

REWIND: 9 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: I know you don't want to be a walking Hollister bilboard and I still completely respect that choice. However, that doesn't mean that wearing gigantic neon t-shirts is a good idea. Please stop.

REWIND: 6 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Also? Lose the charity jelly bracelets. I know you think it looks cool to wear 14 of them at once, but the key to being both charitable and likable is to not make a show of what you're doing...

REWIND: 5 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Yes, you're an awkward geek, but this year, everyone else is, too. If you think the other kids are judging you, they probably are, but they're all just as lame, so whatever. Also, the fight you're having with your best friend is going to end eventually, so just chill about it in the meantime.

REWIND: 4 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: You're starting guitar lessons. Allow yourself to enjoy them and practice a lot. It'll kill at first, but the pain will go away and you'll get good at it. Also, people don't think you're as lame as you think they think you are.

REWIND: 2 years.
WHAT I'D TELL ME: Your counselor told you that you wouldn't need biology. FOR THE LOVE OF ICE CREAM, DON'T LISTEN TO HER!!!!!!!

Of course, at no point would past me listen to a vision of myself from the future, if anything, I'd probably have myself interned at a mental hospital, but it's nice to pretend that doing this would make some sort of difference...and actually, my regrets are not as numerous or grave as I thought they would be...