There and back again... in 39 hours.

[Written at 4:48 CST/5:48 EST]

The past couple days have marked my first experience in the world of business travel. The company I worked for thought it would be good for my general knowledge of the company to go on a tour of the facility where we complete most of the production of one of our primary products. A facility which is located just outside of Dayton, Ohio. And since the tour is the only reason myself and a few other of my co-workers were going, we would go one day and come right back home the next. Wednesday to Thursday. No problem. Ugh…

Wednesday morning I woke myself up way before the ass-crack of dawn – 4:45AM. Since I had stayed up to watch the election results and Obama’s subsequent acceptance speech, I didn’t actually head off to bed until about 4 hours previous. Needless to say, I was a little droopy-eyed. Met up with the right people, got on the plane, spent about an hour in NYC, and the headed off to Ohio, where we quickly checked in and I quickly crawled in bed to take a nap. My room was pretty great – decent sized bathroom, couch, desk, TV with cable. And a king-sized bed. All to myself. I loved it. If I had the money – and, you know, the space – I would buy one. Pure heaven. I could have shared it and never even known. I spread myself out and didn’t kick the wall, I turned over and was able to look at the pure vastness next to me – I would say that I slept like a baby except that my little cousin used to get her feet stuck in the slats of the crib and wake up everyone up screaming. Let’s just I slept quite well, thank you. Almost as good were the paintings in the room. Great whimsical landscapes of rolling hills that seemed nostalgic of the times when Ohio used to have geographically diverse terrain – you know, before the great tectonic shift.

After the nap, it was time for dinner. We went to a very good chain Italian restaurant called Bravo’s where I had the most delicious pesto tortelloni I’d ever eaten and listened to some repeated melody playing over the loud speaker that was part Bowie’s “Under Pressure,” part theme song from Super Mario Brothers and part Wes Electronica DJ on acid. Bizarre. After dinner and some pretty great tiramisu, it was back to the King (as I was now calling my bed) and a pretty terrific night’s sleep.

Morning. Breakfast. Starbucks. Presentation and tour. Awesome machines. The complete geek in me that is in love with robotic technology had about half a dozen joygasms during the 45 minute tour. Pure brilliance. Beneath the silent squee’s were also musings about how the building would work as a BDSM dungeon. I mean, come on. The machine that spins so that plastic wrap can wrap itself around whatever’s on the metal circle on the floor? The place where our coupons are kept – called “the cage” – where only one person is mandated to manage? How could it not?

Airport. Lunch. Plane ride to Chicago. Pretty uneventful, all things told, except when I got in I learned that my flight back to Boston was delayed by more than an hour, and that just sucks. The airport itself, on the other hand, is amazing. Passing from Concourse C to B, I had to go through this hallway where they had those walking ramps where you walk at your normal speed but actually are going about 10 miles an hour faster, and so it feels weird to get off because you feel like you should still be being propelled forward. Adding to the psychedelic ambiance were walls with soft pastel lights shining behind the frosted glass blocks, and neon string lights on the ceiling being lit up in wave pattern going back and forth and forth and back. Music played on overhead that it reminded me of the last time I was in a planetarium, or some slow information ride at Disney World’s Land of Tomorrow. And so now I sit in Chicago, waiting for my delayed flight to finally start boarding, listening to the balding guy in his tweed suit across the way from me talk and the phone and am surprised to find out how much he sounds like Russell Brand, and eating the most delicious caramel apple I’ve ever had in my life. Caramel base, dipped in confectioner’s sugar and rolled in brown sugar and cinnamon. My mouth hasn’t been this happy to have something in it in way too long. And so, with any luck, I’ll be in Boston before 10PM. With more luck, I’ll be home before 11PM. If not, I may be going to work pretty late tomorrow.

A little night music.

I have realized lately that I have an extremely eclectic taste in music. Less perhaps realized and more once brought to my attention. I was looking for a CD tonight, as I have on a bit of music kick as of late, and found a few more that I hadn't listened to in a while, and thought I should rip onto my laptop, subsequently being able to make it onto the iPod.

The first CD was "Once More With Feeling," yes the Buffy Musical Episode. The other CDs I found were Jewel's "This Way," Goo Goo Dolls' "What I Learned About...," The "8 Mile" Soundtrack, and The Clash's self titled album. Not bad eh?

I laughed a little to myself, and then started to notice the different playlists I have on iTunes. They are as follows: Acapella, Country, Folk, Guitar, Holiday, Irish, Jazz, Metal, Musicals, Oldies, Opera/Classical, Sea Chanteys, and Workout (consisting mostly of electric/techno stuff). This all started this morning when I realized the three things I have been listening to almost obsessively lately are Les Miserables, Beethoven's Last Night (TSO), and a new band called Electric Six - whom I've apparently liked for years and actually had a bunch of their songs already, but didn't put together the fact that it was the same band.

I like music. I need music in my life. Thank God I like so many different genres so I never get bored and I can always find something I like. The only problem is that it can sometimes be hard for people to understand why it is actually a necessity, and not just something nice to have around. I play music when I'm happy, when I'm sad and need a pick-me-up, when I'm sad and angry and don't want a pick-me-up at all. I know when I'm truly unhappy when I can't remember the last time I sang or hummed some little diddy.

The best part is that now I can actually afford to go to concerts. Not seriously expensive ones, but like the $15-20 range, with a nice $25-35 occasional outing. I even found a couple of places near me where it fits my budget. Now I just need to actually go. And as much as I love it, it's always more fun for me to share. So I need people to go with me, too.

I know, I know. And the kitchen sink. I'm working on it. :)

OK Cupid and dining room chairs.

So I recently joined OK Cupid. I did it to friend a friend of mine, playing wingman a bit, and to start the whole "Meg is back in the dating world again" thing. Within 24 hours, I get contacted by eight different guys. The only thing is, none of them really seem up to snuff. And I'm not trying to be picky, I just don't see anything exciting about any of them. It might be that I'm not giving them a chance, but nothing actually seems worth it to actually respond. We'll see how this goes.

In another news, I bought some dining room chairs at Ikea today. All I need now is a bed frame, and my room will be set, and there will be nothing left to buy for the apartment. It's weird owning things. I've always bought my own clothes and books and movies and CDs and things, but to buy big things like furniture - it's a little weird. And good. And weird again.

Back to Freaks and Geeks.

Lord of the Rings / The Princess Bride

Yup. You heard me. This link will probably continue to entertain me for at least the next month. Take the plot of Lord of the Rings, with the quotes of The Princess Bride, and GO!

Makes me giggle.... hee!

Confuzzelled but leaving.

Boys are confusing. One minute they are wallowing in pain, the next they are telling you they'd be your wingman if there was someone to wingman for, they next they are biting your head off because you stated that you hated to agree with them on a certain point (hate that the point it right, not that I hate to agree - correct? that's what I thought, too), and the next you're sharing a smoke outside and laughing about Dune. I don't get boys. Or perhaps I do more than I believe, and I'm trying not to think about it.

Either way, none of it matters. In 12 hours I will be primping and priming and getting myself ready for a glorious weekend of good friends, good food, and - if I have anything to say about it - a serious amount of flirt. I will be dressed up and made up everynight, something that rarely occurs once, let alone continuously, and will be making breakfast on Sunday for some of the people I hold dearest in this world.

How silly is it that what I can't wait most for is waking up Sunday morning and baking bread while listening to showtunes and sea chanteys in my flannel? Hee!

A lovely fall weekend.

This weekend I woke up chilly each morning, read late into the night each evening, and made a lot of food. And, of course, did a lot of cleaning. I made vegetable soup that turned out wonderful, potato leek soup that turned out not-so-wonderful, beer bread, oatmeal raisin craisin cookies, and apple-cranberry crisp. And I actually got out of the house each night.

Friday started with a lunch trip out to the local pub, and then moved toward dinner at another pub. From there several friends and I went to see Burn After Reading, a slightly slow moving movie where the one liners are enough to make up for any other faults. After a trip on the T that ended with singing Only the Good Die Young - pretty loudly - it was back to home and a cup of tea and the rest of the book. (Wizard's Grove by Tanya Huff. Also, for those asking, I did a little research and am not nearly impressed with the rest of her works as much as I was this one.)

Saturday was filled with home-made soup and bread, watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall for the second time with a friend (who didn't enjoy nearly as much as I did), and then off to a soul/jazz concert at a little hole-in-the-wall bar that I can't wait to get back to. I had earlier that day picked up Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman, and so with beer in one hand and the book in the other, I listened to a great (and free!) performance. Made me happy.

Today I baked. I mulled some cider, and then clearly and accurately determined I needed cookies to go with it, and then realized that I would finally use up the last of the rolled oats and the apples that were starting to go bad if I made a crisp. Hee...

Now I am cleaning my room, wondering where in the hell I put the nails I was going to use to install a shelf and put up a mirror, and about to fold clothes while watching Fiddler on the Roof.

Mmm..... For once, I feel pretty good about going to work tomorrow, due to the very relaxing and suprisingly productive weekend. And you know, I think I'll go make myself a cup of tea.

A little fall of rain.

So I've had this song from Les Miserables stuck in my head off and on since Saturday evening, when there literally was a little fall of rain. It will leave, to be replaced by another, and then it will rain outside and back in comes. This is not just because of the title, either, but more about the romanticism of each that have tied themselves eternally in mind. (And by eternally, I mean for four days.)

Rain has always been romantic for me. Rain means snuggling down in bed with a good book, drinking hot tea or mulled cider in a stoneware cup, wrapped in flannel or a wool sweater. Ideally in this fantasy, there is another also so stretched out, snuggling with book and me, looking occasionally over the pages to meet eyes and smile, and go back to the individual wonders of whatever world we are engaging ourselves in at the time. Thunder, on the other hand and like you would expect, is for more passionate activities. Kissing while the rain patters loudly on the windows and the thunder booms and the lightning lights up the room is another small fantasy of mine, yet to be actually be experienced.

You can start to understand why this song is already tied to romance in my mind. The rain is small, and comfortable, and Marius and Eponine are embracing. Yes, she loves him and he does not reciprocate in the same manner - those particular feelings are saved for Cosette. And yes, there is that whole thing about how she is dying in this scene. And yet, for that moment, everything for her is perfect. Instead of living a life without him, she is able to spend her last moments in his arms. In all honestly, she probably would have chosen Option A if she had a choice, but since she doesn't, she dies. But she doesn't die alone within the barricade, one of the many crying out for the one they love. She is instead able to die in the arms of the one she loves most, and for this moment and this moment alone, she has obtained all of attention and love and does not have to share.

(http://www.allmusicals.com/lyrics/lesmiserables/alittlefallofrain.htm)

Maybe this strikes a chord because I have a terrible tendency to fall in love with my friends, and an even worse tendency to be completely mute about it. Marius certainly knew nothing of Eponine's feelings until that fatal song, and seems awfully surprised by it. Am I Eponine? I don't think so. As much as I will romanticize the rest of the world, I tend not to do the same for myself. Is there a Marius out there? Who knows? I do know that I would rather live than die of a bullet in 17th century France, no matter whose arms were around me. But maybe there is a lesson. Maybe I will listen to it. Maybe not.

Long live the Republic.