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.
April 10, 2008
April 8, 2008
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
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
April 5, 2008
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 :
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.
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.
April 1, 2008
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.
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.
March 26, 2008
Pet-Peeve-Me-Nots
It is a rare occasion that I get to teach my boyfriend or Swedish friends an English word or phrase they don't already know. While experiencing the horror of riding the subway home together during rush hour last week, I used and subsequently explained the expression pet peeves to Klas. Now it's been coming up all over the place... yes Jamie, including your most recent post :)
There is no direct translation for pet peeve in Swedish. That is not to say that Swedes do not suffer from the particular or often continual annoyances that get under our skin, they simply do not have a word or phrase to describe them. The English language, I have realized, does not have a word or phrase to describe the opposite of a pet peeve--something small or particular that brings you delight. I find that strange, and as someone fascinated with language, I have been struck by the idea that there seems to be more English words to describe negative feelings and things than there are words to describe all things positive and wonderful. (If I ever go to grad school, I think I may just have a topic for my dissertation right there.)
So, in the spirit of being positive, and because my personal list of pet peeves is longer than I'd like to admit, here are a couple peeve-me-nots:
People who give up their seat on the subway for pregnant or elderly women
Young children with very good manners
People with large vocabularies
Roommates who do their own dishes
Punctuality
Chewing gum with a closed mouth :)
When someone holds the door open for me on the elevator
Strangers who make eye contact when walking by
People who are humble...especially when they have good reason to be proud
There is no direct translation for pet peeve in Swedish. That is not to say that Swedes do not suffer from the particular or often continual annoyances that get under our skin, they simply do not have a word or phrase to describe them. The English language, I have realized, does not have a word or phrase to describe the opposite of a pet peeve--something small or particular that brings you delight. I find that strange, and as someone fascinated with language, I have been struck by the idea that there seems to be more English words to describe negative feelings and things than there are words to describe all things positive and wonderful. (If I ever go to grad school, I think I may just have a topic for my dissertation right there.)
So, in the spirit of being positive, and because my personal list of pet peeves is longer than I'd like to admit, here are a couple peeve-me-nots:
People who give up their seat on the subway for pregnant or elderly women
Young children with very good manners
People with large vocabularies
Roommates who do their own dishes
Punctuality
Chewing gum with a closed mouth :)
When someone holds the door open for me on the elevator
Strangers who make eye contact when walking by
People who are humble...especially when they have good reason to be proud
March 24, 2008
Weekend Trip to Washington DC
Klas and I took an enjoyable four hour bus ride from New York to the nation's capital and spent this past weekend exploring a city that neither of us had ever been to. It was fun for both of us to be tourists together for once. We managed to do and see everything we had hoped to in such a short time. The highlights included The Mall (Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, etc), the White House, the Arlington Cemetery and dinner with a friend of mine who goes to school in DC. We also really enjoyed riding the extremely clean and modern metro which was a nice change from what I have become accustomed to in NY.
Everything went smoothly and I think we were both pleasantly surprised by how much we liked the city. It was a perfect vacation for me and was great quality time for the two of us to be together.
In front of the Capitol Building.
View of the Washington Monument from the Lincoln Memorial.
Klas at the WWII Memorial.
JFK's grave at Arlington Cemetery.
Washington Monument behind the boy.
Magnolias and cherry blossoms were out in full force.
Everything went smoothly and I think we were both pleasantly surprised by how much we liked the city. It was a perfect vacation for me and was great quality time for the two of us to be together.
In front of the Capitol Building.
View of the Washington Monument from the Lincoln Memorial.
Klas at the WWII Memorial.
JFK's grave at Arlington Cemetery.
Washington Monument behind the boy.
Magnolias and cherry blossoms were out in full force.
March 19, 2008
In Her Shoes
Shoes are funny. If you stare at people's feet long enough shoes become comical. Why do we wear these covers over our feet? The obvious answer being to protect them of course, but why do we wear the shoes we do?
I have always been kind of a shoe person. Not necessarily in a Carrie Bradshaw kind of way but I always notice what people have on their feet. I am of the opinion that you can tell a lot about a person simply by checking out their footwear. Are they professional or casual? Do they go for comfort or style? Are they American or European? I swear it. I have the peculiar ability to tell what country someone comes from just by glancing down at their feet. European men, for example, tend to wear pointier shoes than American men. Italian men and women have a thing for snake skin shoes and sadly, Americans are pretty much the only people who think a clean pair of white sneakers are cool enough to wear for a night out on the town. I have, in fact, been known to be able to pick out all the Scandinavian men in the club when we are out in New York. What I never admitted before though, is that I often do it by first noticing their shoes.
I think my mind has been on shoes more recently because I just bought two new pairs of high-heels. Seeing as how I am 5'8" and have never felt the necessity to make myself any taller than I already am, I typically don't sport any shoe with more than a one inch heel, if any heel at all. Lately though, I have embraced my tallness and had the urge to learn to walk in more challenging (and inevitably more uncomfortable)shoes. Why you might ask? I'm not sure other than the fact that I see women of all shapes and sizes walking in gorgeous heels everyday and that I have a 6'2" tall boyfriend for the first time in my life. The experience of learning to balance in my seriously stylish kicks has made me pay even more attention to people's shoes around me. I now marvel at the women who walk down the street in strappy four inch stilettos without looking like a wobbly toddler learning to walk and I have a new found respect for runway models who take on the sport of high-heel walking for a living.
They say you can't understand a man until you walk a mile in his shoes. I agree with the statement whole-heartedly, both on a metaphorical and a more literal level because the shoes we wear really do say something about who we are. Go ahead, take a look down at your own feet and think about what your shoes say about you.
I think the more modern version of the quote might be, "You'll never understand a woman until you've walked a few city blocks in her Manolos."
I have always been kind of a shoe person. Not necessarily in a Carrie Bradshaw kind of way but I always notice what people have on their feet. I am of the opinion that you can tell a lot about a person simply by checking out their footwear. Are they professional or casual? Do they go for comfort or style? Are they American or European? I swear it. I have the peculiar ability to tell what country someone comes from just by glancing down at their feet. European men, for example, tend to wear pointier shoes than American men. Italian men and women have a thing for snake skin shoes and sadly, Americans are pretty much the only people who think a clean pair of white sneakers are cool enough to wear for a night out on the town. I have, in fact, been known to be able to pick out all the Scandinavian men in the club when we are out in New York. What I never admitted before though, is that I often do it by first noticing their shoes.
I think my mind has been on shoes more recently because I just bought two new pairs of high-heels. Seeing as how I am 5'8" and have never felt the necessity to make myself any taller than I already am, I typically don't sport any shoe with more than a one inch heel, if any heel at all. Lately though, I have embraced my tallness and had the urge to learn to walk in more challenging (and inevitably more uncomfortable)shoes. Why you might ask? I'm not sure other than the fact that I see women of all shapes and sizes walking in gorgeous heels everyday and that I have a 6'2" tall boyfriend for the first time in my life. The experience of learning to balance in my seriously stylish kicks has made me pay even more attention to people's shoes around me. I now marvel at the women who walk down the street in strappy four inch stilettos without looking like a wobbly toddler learning to walk and I have a new found respect for runway models who take on the sport of high-heel walking for a living.
They say you can't understand a man until you walk a mile in his shoes. I agree with the statement whole-heartedly, both on a metaphorical and a more literal level because the shoes we wear really do say something about who we are. Go ahead, take a look down at your own feet and think about what your shoes say about you.
I think the more modern version of the quote might be, "You'll never understand a woman until you've walked a few city blocks in her Manolos."
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