Book Tag

I've been book tagged by my sister-in-law and here is what I am told I am supposed to do:

Pick up the nearest book (one with at least 123 pages)
Open to page 123
Find the 5th sentence
Post the next 3 sentences
Tag 5 people

"That attitude takes all the crassness and stupidity of the world and makes it the occasion for a game. This is pearl making at it's best. Copland's remark indicates that whatever he may find in the world, if a creative person has a sense of humor, a sense of style, and a certain amount of stubbornness, he finds a way to do what he needs to in spite of the obstacles."

My book was Free Play by Stephen Nachmanovitch. These are pretty good lines in the context of the rest of the book which discusses all the ways we as humans improvise and how to be more in touch with ourselves and our ability to do so. It's kind of funny that the one book closest to me was non-fiction because I don't tend to read non-fiction books very often. This one was given to me as a gift and is a real gem. I recommend it to anyone who is looking to put some more creativity into their life. Anyone who is an artist in some way (and aren't we all?) will enjoy this book.

I tag Jamie and only Jamie to this. I don't have five blogger friends who haven't already been tagged. Sad.

Picture of the Week

I've been checking out some different photography sites a lot lately and have decided that I am going to post my favorite photo of the week every Friday. Here's my favorite discovery this week. It makes me smile. And of course it makes me think of Klas. The Band - by Ellen van Deelen

я являться pоссийский

Nationality is a pretty big part of a person's identity and it plays an even more significant role when you aren't living in your home country. Suddenly, it becomes a defining personality trait, if not THE most defining trait about who you are and what makes you different from those around you. I remember that in my first day of Swedish classes, I learned how to say, "Thank you," "My name is Camille," and "I am American." In a classroom full of immigrants from all over the world, taking turns introducing ourselves by announcing our respective nationalities was a way to say the most about who we were in the fewest words possible.

The more fluent I became in Swedish, the harder it was for people to know right away that I was American...obviously. But a funny thing started happening. For some reason, I was constantly taken for an Eastern European. It happened so often in fact, that it became a running joke between me and Anna whenever we would go out and meet new people. After 15 minutes or so of talking with strangers (which is about the time they would start to notice something fishy about my Swedish), they would inevitably ask me where I was from. Then, I would always ask them to guess. Anna and I would hold our breath in anticipation of the answer we knew was coming. The person, without fail, would guess that I was either Finnish, Polish or Russian, and every time we would laugh in their face. Typically this lead to confusion on their part as to what was so funny, and an explanation on my part as to how Swedes always guessed wrong.

Anna was always sweet in saying that because I don't have an American accent when I speak Swedish, it really throws people off. They have trouble placing me and turn to the super blond hair for help. I'm learning now, however, that my appearance may have had more to do with it than the language. Two times in the past three days, I have been asked if I was Russian. The first time was by an Indian man working a jewelry booth in Greenwich Village, who, after hearing Klas and I speak Swedish asked me, "You Russian, no??" To which I answered, "Nope, I'm Swedish." The second time was at Subway when the guy making my sandwich stopped, smiled, and said something I could not understand. Vladimir, as I saw was his name on his name tag, saw the utter confusion on my face and said in a thick Russian accent, "Zorry, I shot you was Rush-in. Where you from?...Pol-land?" I broke into laughter and this time told the truth, "Nope, I'm American."

I've gone through different stages when it comes to my feelings about my own national identity. There have been times when I have been very proud to proclaim my American-ness in a room full of Europeans and there have been other times when I would rather avoid the subject. No matter what the reason may be for me wanting to avoid the topic, I would NEVER deny that I am American outright. It is not something I have ever been ashamed of, but is also something I would never want to define me 100%. I think I'd rather keep people guessing because it's a pretty fun game. I just need to learn some Russian and dye my hair brown and then people will be really confused.

btw...The title to this post says "I am Russian" in Russian...I think. Contrary to popular belief, I have no clue how to pronounce it.

A Prairie Home Companion

Klas is back in town and this time he is here with a whole Swedish band (Kustbandet) to play a few gigs in New York and at a jazz festival in New Orleans. Last night I had the pleasure of attending his performance on the famous radio broadcast show A Prairie Home Companion with Garrison Keillor. I am not a frequent listener to the program but I knew what it was because of the movie that came out in 2006 based on the broadcast starring Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin, among others. Garrison Keillor has been hosting the radio broadcast show for over 30 years and is one of the most famous names in public radio history.

Yesterday was a dress rehearsal for the actual broadcast airing live tonight at 6pm Eastern time. It's taking place from Town Hall in midtown Manhattan and is performed in front of an audience of about 3,000 people. The radio show itself has over 4 million listeners across the country. You can look up the station airing the program in your area on the website and tune in if you have the time! It's a special treat...and Klas even has a few solos.

The Cost of a Prayer

There are a lot of interesting characters doing some creative things for money underground. There's the man that rides my train home every day carrying a can that says "Help me buy liquor and cigarettes," the break dancers at the Union Square station, the man who plays the saw as a musical instrument in the walkway underneath Bryant Park, the people working the "stress test" tables at Atlantic/Pacific station (only $5 to find out how stressed you really are!) and a handful of other class acts asking for whatever you have in your pockets. An experience I had yesterday though, topped the list of "strangest things you want me to give you money for doing."

Anna, Stellan and I were on our way home from a lovely dinner out when we were approached in the station by some people wearing red aprons with white lettering that read, "God is a good listener." One woman was handing out brochures and asking, "Are you in need of a prayer, sir?"... "Mam, you need a prayer?" It wasn't so unusual to see religious people "selling" their ideas about a higher power, but I was caught off guard when one of the gentlemen proclaimed, "First prayer is free!"...And then what? You are going to charge me to commune with God on my behalf?? I never bothered to ask what the going rate for the second prayer was but I kind of wish I had. I want to know what kind of good deal I am getting on the prayers I say on my own. I'm a bargain hunter afterall, and I happen to know that He'll listen to me for free.

First we make our habits...

...then our habits make us. Or so the quote goes. For some reason, I have been thinking a lot about habits today. It all started at work when I went to the water cooler to refill my water bottle for the third time in two hours (yes, I take frequent bathroom breaks). I leaned into the cooler and put my bottle under the tap with the blue handle and held it there as the water slowly trickled out. I kept it there for a minute and a half before I remembered that I had already earlier discovered that the blue tap was clogged and the water from the white tap came out just as cold. Why did I repeat the mistake and head straight for the familiar blue tap to the right, even when I knew it wasn't working? Refilling my bottle is something I do four or five times a day maybe, and I now clearly go through the motions without thinking. It has become habitual. It was when I repeated my actions for the fourth time and held my bottle under the non-functioning blue tap once again, I realized just how difficult such a silly habit is to break.

I consider myself lucky that I am not a prisoner to any seriously damaging habits. Especially considering my bloodline, which is full of characters who have both thrived because of, and fallen victim to a predisposition to addiction and habit. I don't smoke, I don't like soda and I have never ever been a nail biter. Some of my worst habits include twiddling my eyebrows, eating after midnight and checking my email five hundred thousand times a day. I have tried to change my ways on several occasions, but as I have learned first hand, bad habits most certainly do die hard. I think I remember hearing that it only takes three times of doing something for it to become habitual, but it takes more than twice that amount of times to kick a habit. And even so, are we ever really safe from our bad habits that we have overcome in the past? How long until we fall back into comfort and show ourselves as the creatures of habit we really are?

There are clear and obvious benefits to our human ability, dare I say skill, of picking up habits. I admire those who are in the habit of waking up extra early, those who have made working out a habit and those who truly have the habit of eating healthy. I am a positive enough thinker to believe that we can conquer the habits we no longer want as part of our routine, but I am fascinated by the struggle and the psychology behind it all. Why is it so easy to become accustomed to something we know is not good for us, and yet so difficult to change our ways for the better? What are some of your "bad" habits?

24

Last year on my birthday I wrote a "happy birthday to me" blog post. I don't feel it necessary to repeat the offense this year, but I did find some fun facts on wikipedia about the number 24:

- The number of hours in a day. (really?)

- The number of Carats representing 100% pure gold. (I am golden)

- The number of cycles in the Chinese solar year.

- The number of frames per second at which motion picture film is usually projected.

- The number of letters in both the modern and classical Greek alphabet.

- The number of Baseball Hall of Famer Willie Mays, retired by the San Francisco Giants.

- The atomic number of chromium.

- 24 is considered an unlucky number in Cantonese culture because its pronunciation is similar to that of "easy to die". For this reason, many buildings skip this floor number. The same goes for 13, 34, 44, etc.

Hmmm, I think I will just forget that last one. Here's to being 24!!!

One of Those Days

Today has been one of those days for me when everything is just right and life can't seem to get much better. You know, those days when you are walking down the street with your headphones on and the perfect songs keep coming on, each one better than the last. The songs you are listening to transform and become something greater than just music in your ears. They become the soundtrack playing in the background of your life.

I had such an experience today while walking down the street in the Upper West Side on this beautiful 73 degree-weather, sunny day. Trees lining the streets in full bloom, kids eating ice cream cones on the corner, skyscrapers appearing larger than usual imposed against the bluest sky. Life is good in the Big Apple today and I am loving every minute.

I know that some of my current zest for life is sprouting from the fact that I have so many exciting things to look forward to in the months ahead. But mostly, I think it is because I have reminded myself not to forget to soak up everything that is fabulous about living in this city, everything that is wonderful about my life right now.

Música

According to iTunes, here are my top ten most played songs these days. Well, at least the songs I listen to while I'm at home since it only keeps track of the songs I listen to while on the computer. I am guessing the list would be a little different if it was the top ten most played songs on my iPod while out and about the city. The list looks pretty legit though, meaning I am definitely rocking these tunes on my iPod on a daily basis. There are simply a couple of jewels missing here that I would add if I were making up the list myself.

1. Detlef Schrempf- Band of Horses
2. Ocean of Noise- Arcade Fire
3. Some Girls are Evil- Jennie Abrahamson
4. Green Gloves- The National
5. Challengers- The New Pornographers
6. California- Joni Mitchell
7. Vy Från Ett Luftslott- Kent
8. Lovesong of the Buzzard- Iron & Wine
9. Lost Cause- Beck
10. Silver Lining- Rilo Kiley

My First Job

Call me lazy, or just call me resourceful, but I just went to a website where you can get automatic blog prompts. The first prompt that came up for me was this :

suggested by Spelling Search

"Describe your very first job and what you learned from it."

It's a good prompt I think. It made me think back to my very first working experience and all of the crazy jobs that have followed since.

My first job ever was at Blenzers in Downtown Pleasanton. It was a smoothie place competing with Jamba Juice when smoothies were all the rage. I'm pretty sure it was the summer before my sophomore year of high school, which means I was about 15 years old. Everyone that worked there was 15-16 years old and female, including my best friend Monica who got me the job. I remember that we had a lot of fun concocting weird and revolting smoothies when there were no customers and I also remember that there were boys coming in to visit one or all of us all the time. I also recall that the managers of the place were basically never around. Seems weird when I think back on it now that they would leave their place of business in the hands of a bunch of teenage girls but back then we had no problem with it. It was a pretty sweet deal: no real supervision, friends to gossip with, free smoothies and plenty of gentleman callers.

What did I learn from that job? I learned even then, that the working world has a lot to do with who you know. I knew Monica who knew one of the managers, and so I got the job without even so much as an interview. I learned how to handle money and use a register, which I would use again later. I discovered that I definitely did need to go to college so as not to have a job where I had to do dishes and mop the floors at the end of every shift for the rest of my life. And I learned that kiwi, pineapple and peanut butter are not as tasty of a combination as you might think. All important lessons that I would take with me in some way or another.

What's in a name?

I have always loved hearing my mom tell the story of how when she named me Camille, she absolutely did NOT want me to have a nickname. I was to be baby Camille, not Cam, Cami, Milley or anything of the sort. She tells me that I was Camille and only Camille until my Aunt Patti started calling me Cami when I was a toddler and it caught on like a wildfire my mother could no longer control. My cousins, aunts, uncles and pretty soon Brooke and Ian picked up on the convenience of dropping off a few letters. Even though it's actually not much of a shortening since it has the same amount of syllables, before long, the only name I ever answered to was Cami. I'm not sure exactly when my mom crossed over to the other side, but she did and throughout my whole childhood my father was the only person in the world who ever called me by the name given to me at birth.

It was on the first day of my junior year of high school that a fairly close friend of mine found out that Cami was actually my nickname. I remember how confused he was on that first day of algebra 2 when the teacher was taking roll and I raised my hand when she called out Camille. "It's Cami," I said and then smiled at my friend who was staring at me as if I had lied and betrayed him for years. The truth was, the only time anyone heard my real name was at the beginning of every school year when the teacher would read my name off the list. Unlike some of the kids in my class who were humiliated by the teachers' butchering of their name, I never minded the proclamation of my secret "real" name out loud.

I have always liked the name Camille and as I got older, I began to feel like it suited me more. College seemed like the perfect time to reclaim the name my mother had intended for me but I knew it wasn't going to be easy since I went away to college and lived in the dorms with my best friend since elementary school who had never once called me Camille in the entire 12+ years we had known each other. She would pretty much flinch when I introduced myself to the people living down the hall as Camille so it's no surprise that my other housemates followed her lead and called me Cami regardless of what I said. But I had already made up my mind about reinventing myself in college and other than those in my immediate proximity, my college friends came to know me as Camille.

Fast forward 6 years and now my friends get a total kick out hearing my family members call me Cami. I am Camille to them and Cami seems like a cute pet name or something to be used used only by those who know me very very well. My high school friends, plus my other roomies in college, on the other hand, find it extremely difficult to address me as Camille. To them, no matter what it says on my voice mail recording, I am and always will be Cami.

For me, I am and always will be me. The name someone chooses to call me simply says something about the period of my life that they came into the picture. I like that and I don't want anyone to call me something other than what they know to be my name.

*Side Note Fun Fact: Camille, when said as I normally say it, sounds exactly like the Swedish word for camel. I have gotten some pretty funny looks from the Swedes when I introduce myself and say to them in Swedish "Hi, nice to meet you. My name is camel." I'm working on a more Swedish pronunciation to avoid such desert animal confusion.