A Piece of Internet Chainmail I Actually *Liked!*
February 27, 2009
…because I’m a nerd. And because Bethany is an awful influence:
1 – Go to Wikipedia. Hit “random”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
2 – Go to Quotations Page and select “random quotations”
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.
3 – Go to Flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4 – Use Photoshop or similar to put it all together.
Here is my masterpiece:
I’m actually quite proud. *blush*
“We Must Know Our Mothers’ Names” by Pandeglang Regency. That totally WILL be my band name if I ever have one. 
heehe. Also, the delightful thing about that photo is that it came from some española’s Flickr page, all on random ‘n shiz!
Saturday Morning Update: Links, Recipes, Useless Information
February 21, 2009
I have had a truly ballin’ Saturday morning.
I rolled over in a panic at 7 a.m., light pouring into my room through the cracks around the shade. I thought, of course, that I was going to be late for work–until I realized that it was in fact Saturday. Cue sigh of relief and extra hour of sleep.
Over a bowl of Puffins and soy milk, I gchatted with Ali and watched this amazing video (thanks, Jamie!). I aspire to one day dance with the joy, abandon, and sweet turquoise kitten tee shirt of that plump asian man. (: Bonus? He’s actually quite good!
I know from experience that there are few February mornings in New England such as this one. Bright, sunny, just the right amount of breezy and unseasonably mild, it is the perfect morning to get outside. I went for a walk around my ‘hood today, during which time I ran into the glowing Stefania, guzzed a delicious french vanilla coffee, and enjoyed some sweet tunes while smiling into the wind. And on that note, I’d like you to meet somebody. Her name is Anni Rossi.
This talented little musician from Chicago/LA has a musical presence forged of what sounds like an extremely close encounter betwixt Regina Spektor, Andrew Bird and Bjork over the aural backdrop of a skillfully chucked cello. I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked when I discovered that she’s another signee on 4AD, the same label as a number of my other favorites, Bon Iver, Beirut, and The National. Machine (or Arctic Swing) is the song that sparked my interest in her. This morning I’ve been listening to Ecology and Wheel Pusher whilst executing a complicated series of silly shimmies around my kitchen and cooking the delicious couscous recipe brought to my attention (and now yours) by the wonderful Ms. Katie Gordon.
This recipe (with a sadly lengthy, crappy title) is from the Fields of Greens cookbook by Deborah Madison. Make it, serve it over arugula like I did, and top with shaved almonds in place of pine nuts to render it even quicker, healthier and (bless!) cheaper.
With a sunshiney morning walk behind me and this in my belly, I have a good feeling about the rest of today. I know it may come as a shock, but in a little over an hour I’m going to learn how to shoot a gun. Bob, one of my coworkers, is a registered NRA instructor who offered to teach the Ladies of Fathom how to shoot. I hemmed and hawed about the decision for a while, but upon answering what Bob posed as the “deciding question,” concluded that maybe I should go and learn.
“Caitlin,” Bob asked, “Just tell me this. Make a decision right now. Would you, under any circumstances, be willing to take the life of another human being?”
Almost without thinking, I answered, “Yes.” I further explained to Bob that were someone torturing my mother or a few other choice individuals in my world, I would, without a doubt, be willing to kill. I might also kill in self defense, though I feel less strongly about that than I do about the defense of loved ones–whatever that means about my own self worth–ha!
“Okay then,” Bob told me. “Then you should probably learn how not to accidentally shoot yourself with the gun before you get that far.”
And so, today I’ll be picked up by a coworker and borne to an indoor shooting range to meet Bob and a few other coworkers and shoot at targets for an hour or so. I’m looking at it as an acquired life skill–something much like driving stick, which, incidentally, I’ll also be learning this weekend. The more you know, right?
Tonight’ll be Ben’s birthday party, and tomorrow if I’m very lucky I’ll see Charles over some delicious tapas at Barcelona. I’ll drink to my rejection letters, a future which is uncertain but exhilarating any way it’s sliced, and the vision of tiny pinpoints of light and warmth lit up on both sides of the Atlantic, representing the people I love and who I’m lucky enough love me back. (:
Caitlin Goes All Retrospective for Beirut
February 19, 2009
The nice folks over at The Restrospective have left the door open (read: they’ve been prodding me for a WHILE) to do a little somethin’ somethin’ for their Arts/Culture/Fashion/Technology blog. After months of truancy, I finally got the inspiration and the want-to to get ‘er done–all courtesy of Beirut’s new EP, March of The Zapotec/Realpeople Holland.
Retro’s editors did a little deft retooling, but my piece is over there, (with sweet audioclips!). So here is your summons: when you get a chance, go give Retro a gander–they’re getting some seriously wonderful band interviews done, nosing out up-and-coming artists from all ove the globe, bringing the freshest in fashions to the masses and generally doin’ their thang increasingly well. I’m pleased to’ve had the opportunity to contribute, and pleased to help get the word out about one of my favorite bands, ever! Thanks, guys!
A Real-Time update and an open love letter to my Friends
February 17, 2009
And now, I’d like to take a tiny break from the painstaking chronicling of my Spanish assignation to offer some proof of life present. My Dear blogosphere: Hi! I live.
Edit: (I just spent about 1.5 hours writing a lengthy review of Beirut–one of my favorite bands ever’s–new EP, March of The Zapotec/Realpeople Holland–originially intended to be posted here. As my friend who runs an online music/arts/culture magazine called The Retrospective has since snapped up this material and will be posting it probably on Wednesday (the album’s official release date), slapping it up here is verboten. I will, however, link it all on up when it’s live and kosher! Woot woot!)
So anyhow–all is well. I have beautiful new music to enjoy. My Spanish haircut is growing out rather nicely. I have a sweet new office at work (pictures forthcoming) and I should know more within the next month about the future towards which I’ve been crawling for what seems like eons. Even without knowing others’ decisions, I think I’ve made my own. I find this both thrilling and terrifying. Here is the conclusion to which I’ve recently come, with which I am settled and set and deeply pleased: I know who I am, and I would much rather be interesting than impressive. I need no piece of paper to tell me I am a worthwhile human being. I needn’t toil away for the better part of my young life in a library and gain the approval of some highly intellectual don to feel like I am worth the air I breathe. I am whole, I am powerful, I am realized and, frankly, I’m pretty badass and blessed as it is. For this reason I’m not afraid of making a choice that may prove somewhat shocking. Let’s just see what the best option is when they all roll in.
In other news, I think that I worked my abs so hard last night that I’ve rendered myself ill. My visit with Katie the weekend before last rekindled not only my faith in unconditional love and the generosity of the human spirit, but my deep, dark, frightening adoration of the gym and for working my bod to the bone. It was opportune timing to recommence keeping a workout journal and to find the photos from just before I left for Córdoba in 2005. I was about fifteen pounds slimmer than I am now–not to mention better muscled and more cardiovascularly fit–and I think at my sexiest. Armed with inspirational photos, a series of truly ill playlists, and genuine want to, I’ve been hitting NYSC with a renewed vigor. I’m starting to see the outlines of muscles once more. I am exhilarated. Stay tuned for updates!
The weeks that have rolled by since my homecoming from Spain have been full of people I love and lots of fun. First, there was the weekend in New Haven with my dear, dear Charles. We pined for Madrid, talked about The Future, drank Taro boba tea (or what they told us was Taro Boba tea, but was really Thai Iced tea with tapioca pearls) and generally loved on one another. Later, Charles and I played Scrabble with Anthony and Lourdes, and I spent the evening with a warm kitty named Ayeka chirping and snuggling in my lap. That night I slept on an air mattress at Anthony and Lourdes’s in preparation for the next day’s event–Gabriel, my favorite baby’s, 1st birthday party. A classy fete held at Ahimsa in New HayHay, the party was every bit as well orchestrated as the one I attended in Spain–and with far healthier fare that I didn’t even have to cook! Anthony and Lourdes are such amazing parents, and Gabriel? Gabriel is perhaps the cutest baby that ever lived.
The next big event came two weekends later in the form of a much-anticipated visit with Katie in NYC. This, I have to say, was one of the most fulfilling, healing experiences I’ve had, possibly ever. The emotional/psychic recon work begun by Spain and the healing powers of a good hearted, lovely-eyed man and my Fulbright friends was finished over three days in Harlem with Katie, one of my closest friends from Trinity. I had not seen Katie since July of 2007, shortly before I boarded a plane to Madrid and my life shifted forever. Last Friday night at 7:50 found us talking on the phone, both lost as usual, trying to figure out how we were going to find one another in the huge station. I was coming up the escalator in Port Authority, getting my bearings in preparation to go on a wild goose hunt for her across the city when I saw her standing there, miraculously both of us in the right place at the right time. Despite being laden with a heavy backpack and wrapped in layers of scarf, jacket and hat, I shoved by a businessman in a trench and ran the last few stairs, juggernauting into the arms of the only woman I have ever snuggled with and felt totally cool about it. We screamed. We hugged. We danced around in public, screeching. We elicited a lot of bemused gazes. I don’t remember the last time I was so happy to see someone. We held hands, swinging arms and chattering in a language I’m not entirely convinced was English all the way to the subway platform. We boarded a train, marveling at one another’s existence, high health, and fine looks like the mutual biggest fans we are, and headed out to dinner in The Village at a lovely little Spanish restaurant called La Oliva. We stayed up far too late that night, talking about boys and whispering under the covers. It was like being 13 again. It was oh so good.
Over the next 36 hours we cooked, indulged in some sick partner workouts at two different NYSCs (hey–we’re rowers–it’s what we DO together), recounted the old days and filled one another in on the newer ones. Over the past few months Katie, like I, had been on a Fulbright, except hers took her to Argentina, from whence she just arrived home in January. Her time there changed something in her, moving her thoroughly from the realm of girl to woman. She was always an impressive force, but now, she is a certain, sexy, calm and composed woman who leaves me happily in awe. I had never imagined that I could be more pleased with this new iteration of my friend than I was with the old one, and yet she continues to grow and surprise me in ways that make me appreciate her only more. Some friends we fit with from the beginning and grow into ever more as the years go by. I am happy to find that Katie is one such friend. And here: don’t we look happy?
Katie (left) and me
Seeing this girl, soaking in her glory, witnessing her growth, and lavishing in her deep, genuine goodness did something to me that made me cry–happily–on the bus ride home from New York. Katie’s flamelike warmth and generosity, her fierce and earnest goodness and lovingness–for me and for all of those for whom she cares–reminded me of who and how I was before my heart got hurt, before I closed off and shuttered myself away some out of fear and protection. Being with her reminded me of who I actually am and the love with which I want to treat all of those around me. For all of the poisonous girls whom I’ve called friends in the past, Katie makes up tenfold. This girl is a blessing to my existence and to all of those that she touches, and the closest thing to a sister I have ever had. I am so, so lucky. I am so, so proud of her and to be her friend. I wil so, so be going back to New York City next month to eat, to talk, to run in Central Park and do push up after push up with my favorite Amazon pair. My soul has been realigned, and I have the goodness of my friends to thank for it.
The other day I reported all of this to my long lost childhood friend (whom I’ve still not seen in 12 years, but am now in touch with frequently via Facebook) Brenden. Today I arrived home from work to find this in my inbox, entirely without prompting:
Hi Caitlin!!
It was so much fun to chat with you yesterday. I love to hear you with this new voice, so much to say, so excited.
I am very happy that you were able to visit your friend in New York and remember how you use to be. It is awesome that
friends can bring out something in us that sometimes gets covered up or we forget. We can be so inspired from seeing how creative energy bounces between two people and feeling how quickly we can grow from this.Hang on to all your inspiration, and walk 20 inches above the ground (as Jeejung told me the otherday
Lots of love, b.
He has not seen me in ten years, but somehow remains interested in my life? His goodness, too, is simply amazing.
And then there is Bethany–my kindred sister for whose existence I can’t explain or account. We are linked by blogs and by her tireless stalking of mine last year in Madrid! Ha. We are now linked by mutual like and my recognition of her sheer awesomeness. Will we ever meet? I think so. We have plans to escape some time in the future for long, European girls’ holidays while our husbands take care of her child-god, Ezra, and my doe-eyed, tousle-headed Spanish children who do not yet exist, but someday shall.
How did I become surrounded by such love and such good? I feel, tonight, like I am too sodden, too saturated with luck and love to not leak in such a maudlin fashion out onto every last sticky fiber of the internetz.
And now, I must go to sleep. It’s rather late and I’m incredibly tired. Tomorrow I have a date with an erg and the treadmill. I’ll write more soon–both of general thoughts open to all and what shall be, perhaps, the final or second-to-final installment of the start of my healing process, the portion kicked off in Spain. (;
I am so lucky. Universe, Internet, whatever the superior power is: thank you for putting in my path the beautiful, wonderful people who’ve become my friends. I could not ask for anything more precious or more fulfilling. I bow my head in humility and marvel at how I deserve to be so blessed. Thank you. A million times thank you.
