i'll wrap your presents in orange and black

if you want to be born on a holiday, i think Halloween is the perfect choice:

a) no one goes out of town or takes vacation then
b) it's not an "family" holiday
c) it's not an obligatory holiday during which people make you feel guilty
d) people dress up and don't look as much like themselves, so they're more likely to let loose and really have fun
e) people will allow themselves to eat loads of things that are bad for them. i.e. birthday cake
f) it's a day people of all ages can enjoy
g) it's an occasion to be transient, so it's likely they can fit your party into their trick-or-treating/other party schedule
h) it's not a picnic holiday or a turkey holiday, so you can better control the menu
i) there's CANDY everywhere!

i happen to know several halloween babies. a girl from work who took the whole week off to celebrate; pp's boyfriend, k, who pp says is the "male version" of me -- which is probably why we get along so famously; and our very own blogger, jon.

and then there's my very own H, who puts the "H" in halloween and every other day of the year. at least for me. even from 2,000 miles away he makes me laugh and drives me absolutely berserk. he's quirky and smart and adorable. he isn't afraid to call me out on bullshit or sample weird foods at my suggestion. or tell me that the weird thing i suggested is disgusting. every day, i feel more love and support than i ever could have imagined and i'm thankful for all the happy accidents that brought us together. Happy Halloween, darling. i love you.

pumpkin pickin' on the west side

because i will be celebrating the fair holiday of All Hallow's Eve in-- most appropriate of all places-- the dungeon, this past weekend i went out to California to get my hot-apple-cider-and-pumpkin-gut-fix with H.

let me tell you, as a lifelong midwesterner who has seen her share of snow, sleet and even hail on Halloween-- and trick-or-treated anyway-- the idea of milling around a pumpkin patch in jeans, a t-shirt and sandals is absolutely ridiculous. sure, festivities on the west coast have the essentials: loads of pumpkins, dried cornstalks propped up in pillars, random bales of hay, apple cider, mini gourds, awkwardlooking scarecrows, indian corn, wheelbarrows and of course the obligatory hayride pulled by a tractor. but something feels a little off when it's EIGHTY-FIVE degrees outside. what? no sweatshirts? no runny noses? no mittens!? for goodness' sake, there's a reason they sell HOT apple cider and HOT chocolate at the vending stand. and there's no point in riding around on exhaust-spewing farm equipment if you can't at least use the cold as an excuse to snuggle up to someone special. geez.

so as i walked up and down the aisles of the patch, listening intently for a pumpkin to call out for me to scrape out its innards and cut holes in its head, i tried to get past the people wearing shorts. i was cranky and fuming about all the ways Halloween in the heat defies the laws of nature, and not afraid to voice my opinions. but then, as i lifted up a white pumpkin to check out the damage underneath, i spotted some people walking around with their babies dressed up in chicken suits. and all my irritation melted away. because really, Halloween is not about the temperature outside or the color of the leaves. it is a celebration of dressing our children/pets/siblings/selves in horribly embarrassing getups of which others will save photographic evidence to ensure the maximum amount of mortification at just the right moment. like when your date picks you up for The Prom.

besides, this morning when i got off the plane in chicago to find that it was SEVENTY degrees here, i realized that i definitely needed to lighten up. that and learn to hobble around town with my foot in my mouth.

so enjoy, you trick-or-treaters. if you decide not to get dressed up, at least get a little hopped up on the candy. live a little. quit being so cranky. take a moment to stop and smell the baby chickens.

and if you're looking for something a little more on the dark side, check this out. just a warning: it's not for the faint of heart.

enjoy!

she's crafty

"you know, i saw a button near the coat rack this afternoon and picked it up, thinking it's probably one of mine."

"who's is it?"

"sure enough, it's off the shirt i'm wearing."

"ah, well you going to take it home and fix it?"

"yeah, i'll probably have to do it myself."

"you know, every time i try to sew on a button, it seems to only last for only one buttoning."

"yeah, it never works right. i lost one off my coat last week..."

"i hate to interrupt you, gentlemen, but it might be sturdier if you go diagonal with those things."

"like when you're unscrewing the lugnuts on a wheel?"

"uh... yeah. sort of. actually, yeah! same sort of thing-- to make sure it doesn't fall off on you."

"so then, it's cool if i just bring it in for you to take care of, cadiz?"

sliver lining

there are some cases when everything seems to be going wrong, all you can do is worry what exciting NEW thing will go wrong tomorrow, in the off chance that your worry will make that thing turn around and go back from whence it came. but then tomorrow comes and it happens anyway.

that really sucks.

and though you don't really believe them when they say stuff like, "don't worry, it'll all work out," or "just try to stay positive," secretly, it's kind of nice to hear. if only for the tiny sliver of pleasure you get from disregarding it.

all new, three times

i got tagged by ML!

and no, i am not going to repeat what i said last time, because i am bored and i like this stuff.

3 things that scare me
losing hope
being jumped and choking instead of defending myself then having to live with the guilt or be dead because i was a coward
starting over

3 people who make me laugh
my brother
H
highcontrast

3 things I love
a really snuggly nap on a sunny day in the summer
shopping for baby clothes
my dvr

3 things I hate
the smell and taste of liver
the exponentially increasing amount of commercials they play during "Lost"
not knowing where i stand

3 things I don't understand
corporate effing america
forcing others to accept your beliefs
gadgets

3 things on my desk
a sewing machine
a blurry picture of me and my grandma from 1987 in Pomona, CA
a broken anklet with garnet-colored stones in it

3 things I'm doing right now
thinking about what i'm going to watch on tv when i get home
thinking about how early i have to wake up tomorrow
trying not to think about what i'm going to in the not-so-distant future

3 things I want to do before I die
meet phil keoghan at the mat
shed some paranoia
be someone's Dadi

3 things I can do
"cackle"
make round, puffy chapatis (but not rice, go figure)
knit booties

3 ways to describe my personality
sweet
spicy
savory

3 things I can't do
stand it when people hang out in the left lane and drive slowly
seem to want to use my mp3player
resist the chance to get nine more minutes' sleep

3 things I think you should listen to
my mom (in case yours doesn't give good advice)
railroad crossing signals
me, when i'm speaking. or else i will get VERY PISSED

3 things I think you should never listen to
television news (ALWAYS get a second opinion, and there are plenty out there)
telemarketers
teletubbies

3 favorite foods
cheeseburgers
sushi
my mom's recipe for [fill in the blank here, except liver]

3 things I'd like to learn
speedreading
to roll with the punches
my purpose

3 beverages I drink regularly
chai (i'm talking lipton, baby, not that commercialized shi-shi crap)
water
odwalla's green monster juice

3 shows I watched as a kid
duck tales
Cosby
tom & jerry

3 people I tag
highcontrast
becky
yo momma

just monkeying around

here's something H's sister sent to him and i've been playing around with while i wait for reports. i'm sure all you monkey fans out there will be pleased.

enjoy!

strong and sexy

today i get onto the bus about fifteen minutes before it was supposed to leave. i guess the driver was on break and was on the phone, helping her friend or somebody pick out names for a baby. i couldn't help but listen to her end of the conversation.

"how about noel? that can be for a boy OR a girl! noelle is a great name!"
...
"mahan? what the heck kind of name is that?... oh, that's your momma's name? oh okay. well, that's nice, but you said you want her to have a strong, sexy name. i'll think of something. don't you worry."
...
"na na nah, I GOT IT! now get this: India. N, with the little swirly thing, d, y, i, a. India. now that's strong AND sexy! ... nah, N with that thing on top, d, y, i, a. i'm telling you, girl! that's a GREAT name!"

i don't know about you guys, but i sat there on the ride to my office trying to figure that one out. Ndyia. doesn't that look like it'd be pronounced "Nih-dee-ya"? and isn't it grammatically impossible to have a tilde n at the beginning of a word? help me out, you linguists out there.

i'm sure a lot of parents get their babies' names in a moment of clarity, but really, shouldn't people take a little more time to map it all out? that poor kid might end up being strong and sexy, but only because she'll have to be confident enough to correct people about her name all day long and have built up a tolerance for ridicule.

a wrench in the plan

on friday, i was driving along, humming to the newsradio themesong and listening for the weather report when suddenly there came a crunchy thumpthumpthumpthump from the undercarriage. i pulled off the main road and into an empty church parking lot to assess the damage.

after several rounds of kicking and no sign of hissing, i decided the tires were fine. but when i drove in circles in around the parking lot islands the suspicious banging only seemed to get worse. it sounded like something under there was dangling precariously close to dragging on the asphalt and making sparks that would ignite my fuel tank and toast me to a burnt crisp. so i called work to say i wasn't going to make it in and tried to roll back toward home slowly, hoping that if it was going to fall to pieces or blow up, my car would at least have the decency to do so within a populated area so someone would be able to identify me and call my mother.

needless to say, i made it home. i didn't have another way to go the 36 miles to work and back, but that didn't stop me from feeling horrible for the entirety of what would have been my shift. i never was good at playing hooky; the guilt sucks every second of joy i might get from the freedom, so i don't even bother.

however, today was a different story. i got in to see the mechanic and finally felt some relief. i can show the boss my big fat receipt for shiny new stabilizers and a brand-new front axle. if that had completely broken down on me in the middle of the highway, i think guilt would have been the least of my emotions.

show me that smile again

one of the reasons i knew in my heart that pp, my random college roommate, and i were going to get along great was because on October 12 that first year, she turned to me and said, "do you know what today is?"

i have no idea how i remembered this -- probably because someone i knew in jr. high was obsessed with him -- but i replied, "why, it's kirk cameron's birthday!" and that's exactly what she had been thinking.

so happy birthday, kirk. i may not agree with all of your beliefs, but you sure were loveable as mike seaver on growing pains.

we're onto you

one of my favorite people, mr. high contrast, is somebody i have known since freshman year of high school. when you first meet him, you think to yourself, "my, what an intelligent, successful businessman! and he's witty and goodlooking, too!" but what only a few people truly know is that the man is really a prankster at heart who takes sadistic joy in messing with people when they least expect it; like when they're in the bathroom and have left their e-mail account open. behold his handiwork, via an e-mail from my friend kaiya:

_____________

(no subject)

cadiz -
i'm over you.

Kaiya

_____________


i see highcon has been hacking into your email again.
cadiz
_____________


i cant believe that little [expletive] wrote 4 separate distinct emails. i dont know how he was able to craft A different non mass email email to people in FRONT of my own FACE!!!!
kaiya
_____________


HOW does he do this?

but it's so funny; some things just never get old.

hope all is well.
cadiz
_____________


and its funny how s, Kupsaroo and ale, like u, had no question in their mind... that an email straight from me... even if it was their first of a kind.... no question it had to do with highcon.

highcon told Kupsaroo... "can i tickle your pickle?"

_____________

bwahahahahaahahaa.

what did he tell the others?

_____________

"i wanna do you like they do it on the discovery channel."

"i want to run my fingers through your hair. i want to sing a song in my bra and panties."

"I'm over you."

"can i tickle your pickle?"

_____________

good LORD. he's hilarious.

_____________

somehow, this e-mail hijacking game never tires for our fair highcon. the first time there was a lot of confusion over kaiya writing such salacious things. but we caught on quickly and can spot him a mile away. all of these victims have known him for more than 8 years, some as long as 15. all are female. but what should be applauded is that the missives were sent out, unbeknownst to the real sender, in the span of what i can only guess was about 30 seconds.

nice work, hc. but next time, try to get the tone right; this prank was outright transparent.

my home will always smell of curry

this week post secret featured a postcard from an indian girl who secretly wishes she were white because she thinks "it would be easier."

reading that made me incredibly sad.

it's not *easy* for anybody in this world-- we all struggle to fit in. but her note just makes me wonder what the heck must have happened to her/in front of her bad enough to create a secret hope that she were someone else entirely. personally, i think it's all television's fault.

non-surfin' safari

so this past weekend i went out to cali to visit H. nearly every trip out there is an adventure, and this time we went on a google maps-induced goosechase to find this heavenly dumpling restaurant near Pasadena we'd sampled before and have been dreaming about ever since. after about an hour of driving around trying to follow directions that made no sense, we tossed those and found our own way. and despite the additional wait, it was well worth all the trouble.

the next day, we went on a safari-- of sorts. first we took a trip to Long Beach, passing some areas i have only heard of in rap songs. then we hopped on a very big boat and embarked for Santa Catalina Island.

Catalina's got wildlife: we saw dolphins jumping out of the water on the way in and took a submarine tour of Lover's Cove, where we fed fat, greedy and orange fish by "torpedo" and dodged kelp that can grow an inch an hour or 2.5 feet per day, given the right conditions if i heard the tourguy correctly. we also had to step over fish guts on the pier and sunbathers who didn't feel the need to remove their socks and running cleats while lying out on a "beach" virtually the width of a sidewalk. (or is it laying out? i'll never understand people who tan. or their lingo.)

then we took a two-hour rollercoaster ride up the mountain to the airport and back and saw some bison leaving presents along the road. it seems when they were making a movie there in 1924,('the vanishing american,' by zane grey) they hauled out some 1400 head of these huge, shaggy animals and didn't have the energy to round them up afterwards. turns out the beasts didn't even make the cut for the movie. so these hulking animals that look like buffalo but aren't buffalo because buffalo live in asia or africa so buffalo wings, 'buffalo' bill, buffalo soldiers and i guess the buffalo stance should all be named for bison instead. ok, maybe not that last one.

the beasts we really had to watch for zipped along streets and sidewalks, spewing exhaust and tooting their little horns. it seemed everyone and their mamma was driving a golf cart. and later we found out there's an 800-car limit for the whole island and a 14-year waiting list to get a non-golfcart vehicle.

but the best creature we saw on the trip had to be this adorable little girl who was about two years old. she was running circles around the square with her older brother and sister while her father ambled along behind, calling 'valentina, slow down!' she caught sight of me with my waffle cone and H with his twix bar sitting on a bench and stopped still in front of us. she cocked her head and smiled. i waved and H chuckled. then she turned around, put her hands on the ground and stared at us from between her little legs until the blood rushed to her head and she nearly fell over. then she'd run around in circles a few more times looking up at the seagulls gliding around, see us again and stop, flip over and smile. over and over.

looking at strange wildlife never gets old.

smooth talker

"have you talked to your brother today?"

"yeah, he was asking my opinion about whether to go to that florida football game he's been dreaming about for years or something."

"what did you tell him to do?"

"well, it sounded like he really wanted to go, so i said go, but cut back on spending so he doesn't break the bank. he obviously doesn't make much money working 6 hours a week."

"well he called me today, asking me for the money."

"that sneaky little rascal! you know what he said? when i asked if the tickets were really expensive, he said 'money's no object.' i should have known!"

"isn't it amazing how he tells each of us a different story?"

"but, you know, he never actually lies about anything. i didn't think to ask him how the heck he was so confident about the cash. i wish i had learned how to work it like that. he's got us all wrapped around his finger! i don't know where he gets it from."

"probably your father."

your baby with the bathwater

"hey, i'm going to throw all of these out. they're so raggedy."

"fine. but not those-- i can wear them when i'm working in the yard."

"i can't believe you're actually letting me throw something away for once."

"yeah, ha ha, why don't you just throw me out while you're at it?

"sure, someday."

this week in television

so i guess my team got eliminated in the first round of the amazing race.

sigh.

just means that i'm going to have to get off my booty and try to represent my peeps and hope to make it to round two. hey, at least anchal made the cut on america's next top model.

i'm not terribly heartbroken, however, because H and cc convinced me to watch arrested development on netflix. i thought i'd never get into it when i still didn't see the big freaking deal after six episodes, but suddenly the show became laugh-out-loud, freaking HILARIOUS.

i saw the season premiere of grey's anatomy, which i very reluctantly got sucked into even though i think the main character is not interesting enough to warrant all these guys being in love with her. it's soapy, but keeps me coming back for more.

and i finally got around to watching ghostbusters, which is has some pretty dirty references in it. however, i knew a lot of the premise from watching the cartoon the real ghostbusters as a kid. i was waiting for slimer to show up. it took 22 years.

don't worry; i'll still be running home on sunday night to catch TAR.

the flavor of my kind. finally.

ok, i had this big long post all set about how i'm damn excited that my favorite show, The Amazing Race, kicks off tonight and that i cannot wait to get home and watch it and how, since i got a dvr i refuse to watch commercials and i have no idea what kind of contestants they have. until i thought to myself, DUH self, go look it up online.

MY PEOPLE HAVE FINALLY MADE IT TO REALITY TELEVISION!

ok, ok, i know that's not true. they have an all-asian team on Survivor! (oh yeah, but not south asian.) and i think i flipped through and saw some contestant on America's Next Top Model a few years ago who tried to blow off the pain of being cut by saying something ridiculous like she only really wanted to use it to get into the business side of fashion anyway. yeah, sure, she only said that to save face for the Aunties. and from the previews, i think there's someone from my region on the next season of ANTM, too.

the reason that i'm so unbelievably excited is because i feel it is my duty to put my heart and soul behind anyone who bucks the Auntie patrol. Tony Kanal, M. Night Shyamalan, Parminder Nagra, Sarita Choudhury, Naveen Andrews, Russell Peters and a host of others that i'm sure i'm forgetting that are more than worth mentioning. especially because they don't usually list sculptors, or journalists, or architects, or fashion designers, or professional chefs, or makeup artists, or dancers, or trombonists, or all the other non-approved careers on imdb.com.

these people take on the big job of veering off the accepted path that is medicine/law/computerscience/and-of-course engineering. which is why it took nearly a DECADE to get a southasian on the tv show ER. in that entire hospital, there was not one of my people for that long? not a single ultrasound tech or phlebotomist or orderly. wanna know why? because no indian parent's friend in their right mind would allow them to allow their child to pursue something as risky as acting. i know these people want the best for their kids (read: quickest road to grandchildren), but that just leads to grandkids without role models they can identify with who may form skewed ideas of what it means to be beautiful, successful and loved by the world. (i escaped this particular fate because my parents are all about bollywood music videos. my idea of what a beautiful woman means is to have long luscious hair and run about the trees in the rain. which is another issue in itself.)

anyway, thank you Jerry Bruckheimer and the casting people for Amazing Race 10. i see that not only do you have my peeps, but you have another asian team (the other kind) as well as devout muslims and a person leaping through life despite an injury. and of course some cheerleaders and pageant queens. i'm sure more than one of them is a "/model," so you guys aren't straying too far from the protocol.

so, as if i wouldn't be doing so anyhow, i will be running home every sunday night/monday morning to check up on my team. and i pray that my people don't do something like be nasty to each other or cheat or pick fights or get eliminated right away because i want America-- in its infinite openmindedness-- to think all of us are tough competitors who know how to bring it, fight fair, battle it out and KICK SOME ASS! because, you know, we're, like totally, all the same. which is why we have to support each other.

so vipul and arti, this time it'd better be you coming home with a million dollars. my rep is on the line.




************UPDATE*******
Imagine my dismay when, after having programmed the television and triplechecked that it was set to record, i hurried home to find that it most definitely DID NOT!
maybe it was the heavy storm this evening that blocked the satellite dish, but now that i do a search for the show under many different variations, nothing comes up. damn you, DirecTV!

please don't ruin the ending. maybe if i ask really sweetly, someone very wonderful will hook me up with a copy of the episode.

exhausted

i have a project to do. a really big one. it will require tedious attention to detail and a lot of-- what do they call it?-- "get up and go" to complete. very little of which i currently posess these days. and i'm terrified about failing. maybe that is why i have put it off for two months when i should have been about halfway through by today.

this is very upsetting. i spend a lot of time worrying and little actually doing.

never fear, dear readers, i am aware of how deep the vat of doo-doo is that i tread; it's just that for some reason, i cannot seem to muster the motivation to actually begin. perhaps it's a fear of rejection, inability to attain the impossible goals i set for myself or the fact that i tend to view anything short of said impossible goals as an utter failure and may be putting it off to be able to say it sucks so very badly because i had no time -- all classic signs of procrastination. even today, as i sit here at the computer on the one day off this week that i had fully dedicated to taking that tentative first step toward certain doom, all i can do is look back on all the things i HAVE accomplished in an effort to put the crying off a little longer:

checkbook? balanced.

house? dusted, vacuumed, swept up, tidied

grates that go over the flames on the stovetop? soaked, scoured and put back into place

do-it-yourself-home-improvement and myth-disproving shows? watched, sometimes two at the same time

big production dinner? made

dishes? done (that's a biggie)

laundry? currently drying

magazines/newspapers/junkmail? sorted and moved to resting places, final or otherwise

cds? organized

correspondence? caught up on

first half of America's Next Top Model marathon? enjoyed (although i've never really been into that program, when they show them all in a row, i just cannot find the courage to turn off the tv.)

ice cream? eaten

knitting project? more than halfway finished

facial mud mask? applied

toenails? repainted

horoscope? checked

newspaper? read

current issues of rolling stone, paste and salon.com? browsed through

blog post? soon to be posted

and although i've demonstrated a considerable amount of restraint in NOT watching Ghostbusters, which i have never seen but have recorded, i am now in a decent frame of mind to consider possibly getting started.

but i sure could use a nap, first.

page 123

I've been tagged with a book meme, by Lia, as follows:

1. Grab the book closest to you.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Scroll down to the 5th sentence.
4. Post text of next 3 sentences on your blog - name of the book and the author.
5. Then tag 3 people.

"And spineless. He went over it again and it looked the same. There was no way out, he would have to speak to her."

Atonement, Ian McEwan


let me just say that the sentence before this bit was seven --SEVEN-- lines long in a paragraph which didn't break for 21(!)lines. and that pretty much sums up the experience i had with this book, whose author had been so heavily praised to me that i actually went out and bought it. which i never do, because i don't like owning books i won't want to read again.

the story idea was good, but i think mcewan went to such trouble to set it up and drag out the reveal, i wandered away more than several dozen times. and when i finally made it to the big finish, i felt just a little cheated that it had been such a meandering road. rarely does it take two months.

ANYway, i tag:

jon
ale
highcontrast (who claims to have started blogging again. we'll see about that)

before you protest, remember, all you need is the NEAREST book. indulge me.

thanksgiving

so, you're 24.

but you know, to me you'll always be a smartass 3-year-old running around in smurf shorts, secretly recording cartoons over the best parts of of mom's betamax movies and feigning ignorance during the inquiry. and though you'd try to make me the fallguy, those dimples still betray you every time.

come to think of it, stealth has always been your modus operandi. like after you left for school and the alarms you'd secretly set on my cellphone went off 2 hours after i'd finally fallen asleep? yeah, thank the good Lord i couldn't reach through the telephone and yank out every last scraggly hair of your poor excuse for a goatee, pal. and at that ungodly hour, i think i would have ripped out the hair on your head, too.

i make the worst threats of bodily harm to those i love the most, baby brother. you squirmed into my heart to stay, back when dad would ask 'whose baby are you, mommy's or daddy's?' and you'd say 'cadiz's.' growing up, you pestered me to no end but i secretly loved the attention. you do great impressions. you know what i'm thinking when i look over at you during family parties with an eyeroll. and you're probably the only person on earth for whom i would endure the entirety of 'the benchwarmers.' (don't you dare ask me to sit through that ever again.) you gave me the best advice when i had my heart torn apart and you are the only one who can get away with calling me on my bullshit straight out. i don't think i can go more than a few days without a call-- peppered with madeup catchphrases from your crew such as 'latrix'-- telling me just how little is going on.

you've always made me an ally; even at a very young age you demanded i was present. despite the rules against children in the surgical area, you wouldn't let them start iv's without me there holding your hand and always asked for me when you woke up, often before you called for mom and dad. and even when we were fighting bitterly, the second there was outside trouble we worked as a team. you probably don't even remember those things, but they mean a lot to me. i'll always be there for you, no matter how far away you are.

on this day, H and i will be hanging out in your favorite place, wrigley field. don't be salty; it wasn't my idea for you to move all the way across the country for school. and believe me, if you were still in town it'd be the two of you at the game-- i'm only in it for a ballpark hotdog. but i think it's the perfect way to spend your day. because even though everyone's birthday should be marked with something special, each year that i can celebrate yours is truly a blessing.

listening out for a calling

truth is, i just happened onto this dungeon gig. when i was growing up, i thought i wanted to be a doctor. i even volunteered (candystriped dress and all) at a hospital before realizing it's definitely not the life for me. later i thought about art school, but my parents worried that i'd be an artist of the 'starving' kind and got into my head. i went to university and, after studying as little math as possible, found my way here. i like the job, but i'm still hoping to figure out what my *ideal* is so i can start getting there.

the other day i was on the phone with la mariachi. she plays in a band as a hobby, but is getting her teaching certificate. i asked her how she knew she wanted to be a violin teacher. she said it was what she was good at. and what made the violin better than, let's say, the oboe?

"math." she said.

at her grammar school in florida they only offered stringed instruments and if you took orchestra you got to miss math class a couple times a week. damn, if we had that system in my hometown, maybe i'd have actually practiced my cello and given yo yo ma a run for his money.

i still hope that one day i'll be walking down the street and be hit by the revelation of what my life's work ought to be. but i've resigned myself to accept the odds that i may never find it.

anybody want to buy a dusty cello?