Warming Up, Working Out

I was at the Ecole de Cirque (Circus School, en anglais) in Montreal with my tour last week and before the students were allowed on the trampoline, trapeze, tightrope, etc., we all had to warm up. So there we were, all sat in a circle doing warm up stretches at nine in the morning, an activity reminiscent of elementary school gym class. I sat there on the mat, all bent out of shape, and felt my muscles tense as if to rebel and resist the act of me stretching them out - and then, it's almost as if they all took a big breath and slowly settled into their new relaxed position, like they gave a sigh of relief. I exhaled. "Man, it feels good to be using my muscles again!" I exclaimed. I hadn't been to the gym since school ended and I threw out my trainers when I was packing up, so I haven't been running despite the beautiful weather outdoors. I thought that touring would almost be the same as exercising, given the amount of time I spend on my feet running around, but it hasn't been. I hadn't noticed that I missed being active and was surprised at how good it felt after so much time.

I'm going to take a small step- er, a giant leap, into the area of Cheezo-Beezo and Dramatic now (but don't say that I didn't warn you), and extend this story of me stretching before Circus School into a metaphor to involve a story of me stretching out another muscle in my body: my heart. If I was a better writer I'd be able to seamlessly segue from a real, live story into metaphor into another real-life story and back to the metaphor without you, the reader, even realizing it and then bam! the true meaning comes out and you sit there in your desk chair (or bed, or at your kitchen counter or whatever) and go, "Wow. I totally didn't see that coming. I thought she was going to tell me about clowns."

Also, if I was a better writer, I'd be able to write about other things going on in my life and share lots of good stories and not just lament the fact that I have a new heartache every few months. But I digress....

Now, where was I? Muscles, right. I've been saying "Practice makes perfect" a lot lately (because I'm finally trying to get my license) and also because it's true; the more you do something, the better you get at it. Similarly, the more you use something, the better you get at knowing how it works, how to hone it, how to whisper sweet nothings to that annoying front door lock and tickle it in just the right place to make sure that the mofo actually LOCKS. Not using something, anything - a muscle, a skill - is letting it go, letting it deteriorate and atrophy (like my long lost music, painting, and writing skills). Before you know it, the strongest muscle you've got in your body is the pinky finger on your left hand and how on earth are you going to do save the world or build shelters for the homeless with that? You might as well just mash the A key on your keyboard a few times and call it a day. (My digressions are maddeningly annoying, aren't they?) You forget how good it feels to do something, and to do it well.

I've been through my fair share of relationships (both of the flimsy and meaningful variety) and I can honestly say that I think I'm actually getting better at this girlfriend stuff. I know how to read and relate to people, how to handle conflict, how to be sweet and caring, and also how to stand back and give them space. I've been working on it slowly; reps of ten on both sides, then rest with a period of singlehood for thirty seconds and repeat. It feels nice to love someone, and to love them well. Is it possible to forget something like that? Or is it like riding a bike; you never really forget how to do it, and once you get back on and start cycling around you remember how good it felt to have the wind rushing through your hair.

It's like... when you're in a bad mood and finally, someone says something to you that makes you smile and your whole face just opens up, lights up, and spreads into a big toothy grin and it FEELS. SO. GOOD. It's like your whole body just got a facelift. It makes you think: Wow! That feels so nice! and: Ah, that was easy, and also: Why haven't I been doing this all day? It's just like that; my heart was all crabby and tense and someone came by and said something cute and funny and all of the sudden it took a breath and just relaxed into a smile. And it felt very good after so much time.

At Circus School, I went from doing gentle stretches to doing cartwheels to doing a star on the trapeze to hanging upside down with nothing but a giant red silk curtain holding me up by the small of my back. It was more than exercise, it was extreme. So, as I discovered during and after Circus School, using a muscle too much, too quickly after a long resting period will cause it sudden, and lots of, pain. Going from an atrophied muscle to a pulled one is a mostly unpleasant experience. Personally, I woke up sore all over the next morning, despite the warm up stretches.

And yes, in case I really butchered the real-live, metaphor, real-life, metaphor of this story that much, this is about more than just my experience at Circus School.
11:19 PM

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Birthday on Thursday

So that's it, I'm turning twenty-four and there's no stopping it. I wish, however, that there is some way of stopping the trip to Boston that I'll be on as of 7:30am tomorrow morn.... Lucky for me though, I'm feeling pretty twenty-four. Nothing says Welcome to Your Mid-Twenties! like a cold and an eye infection. Green goop coming out of my nose AND my eye! Am I going to be the most popular kid on the bus tomorrow, or what? Silver lining: Unlike two years ago, when I spent my actual birthDAY on the coach driving through New York state for eleven hours, this year my birthday will include exciting activities like a Duck Tour, a band performance, Harvard Art Museums and Harvard Square, and lining up at the Boston Conservatory for tickets to a percussion show. Happy 2-4 to me indeed.

My lovely Annia took me out for an early birthday present before I left for my tours and it was one of the best birthday presents ever. She's either caught onto my penchant for The Gifts of Time and Experiences or she's a smart gal who likes the same things (I have no doubt that she is both). We went for a nice, classy dinner (think ...neo-Indian with a funky twist? and wine!) and then to the Symphony for their New Creations Festival! It was a smashing evening, I must say. As I was sitting in Roy Thompson Hall listening to Turangalila, I thought to myself, "I've enjoyed every minute of tonight and will continue to do so because I fully appreciate her thinking of me and treating me to something like this..." Slightly condensed and re-worded and total cheezo-beezo, I know, but it's true.

My birthday present to myself this year? One of only two things I really wanted: A haircut (the other being a man). I've had three haircuts in the last eight years - December 1999, May 2003, March 2006. I grow it long, cut it short, lather rinse repeat. I can't remember the last time I had style. So, in the spirit of Something Dramatic and Different, I lopped off 12 inches for donation again (for the last time in what is to be a long while), put on my Daring Pants, and got ready for an exciting, bold change. The results? An asymmetrical cut. Admittedly, I didn't know what that was when the stylist asked if I would like one. "Sure!" I said. *pause* "What is that?" I was pretty much sold when she said "asymmetrical". Heck, she could have said "bob" and I would have gone for it. I trusted her and what I got in the end was much, much more than just a bob.

From a few different angles to show off the asymmetrical-ness (and complete sasstastic-ness) of it all:



That shade of hooker-red lipstick? Isn't a daily thing, I swear.
The shine on my face? From the hair spritz the stylist used because she didn't bother to cover my face before she sprayed it everywhere.
The pout? I think I'm trying to look as chic as my new do.
And PS: I'm still wearing clothes; it's just a tube top.

The cut is awesome because I feel like I stepped out of a magazine and it's so different than anything I've ever had (except the time my dad cut my hair when I was seven and, though it didn't look this good, it was definitely asymmetrical). This'll be great for when I go out dancing and get all dressed up and fancy, so I'm excited about that. I'm also feeling fancy because look who came up when I Googled "asymmetrical haircut" when I got home, none other than Rihanna herself. I haven't had a celebrity hairdo since The Rachel was big back in the 90s.

I've got my hesitations though... this asymmetry is a bit on the trendy side and way too cool for my lifestyle. I wake up in the mornings, give my hair a quick brush-through and I'm out the door. I'm ultra-low maintenance and don't own a hairdryer. I work on the road with bus loads of kids and wear oogly, loose, baggy uniform shirts with a dorky backpack and a BlackBerry on a bright orange lanyard around my neck most of the time. I have little to no doubt that this uber-stylish look will fall into utter disarray quite quickly. I give it about a month. So, before it grows out and I have to tie it back into a short nubbin pony-tail, someone take me out on the town so I can show off, mmmkay?

10:32 AM

Monday, April 28, 2008

Bad Luck In Boston

I don't want to whine about work. I won't whine about work.

I will, however, say that I really, REALLY miss my very first tour of the season, the NYC tour from last week. It's not just the cute underage boys either, nor the boy who snuck his email address into my roll of cash tip, it's ...everything. The wacky road-rage driver who knew NYC like he had lived there all his life. The ultra-cool, laid back, funny teachers. The KIDS. My god, the kids. They loved me and I loved them back. They wanted to hang out with me, to talk to me, to tell me stories of what they did during free time.

This week? Let's just say it's been ...different. The group was pre-determined to not get very close to me, and love the driver more than me, despite the fact that he didn't do his job - honestly, who shows up having not read the itinerary, without any maps or prep work at all? He does, apparently. Then I have to spend my nights looking up directions to and from every destination and write them down on sticky notes for him because he never bothered to do it for himself. JAY-SUS. No, they didn't know all that because I faithfully handed him directions every morning and led him through Boston and Salem without saying a peep about it my building resentment. I've learned that I can keep my smiley face on more than I thought. Because, on top of that, we ran into bus troubles. I'll keep the whinage to a minimum and will say that it wasn't like the last time I was in Boston and got stuck under a bridge (BEWARE JAMES STORROW DRIVE), but this time, the teachers lost their ever loving minds on me. And my company. And the bus company. Clearly, all anger should be taken out on me (and not the driver) because I was totally present for all the decision making that made them angry in the first place. NOT. Where was I when all those anger-inducing decisions were made? I was doing my job as a tour leader AND getting you a surprise tour of the New England Conservatory of Music even though it wasn't on the itin. THAT'S what I was doing.

*grabs a paper bag*

So! I'm back to Boston on Wednesday morning and I hope to dear goodness that I don't have bad luck like I've been having the last two times I went there.

I'll also be spending my birthday there (again) so keep your fingers crossed for me, will ya?

6:49 PM

Monday, April 21, 2008

Blogging From A Bus

I never thought it would happen. I'm on the internet while ON A BUS. I'm en route to home after a successful trip to NYC and I thought my driver was joking when he told me there was wireless internet on the coach. Oh yeah right, I said. But lo and behold, there is wireless indeed and here I am, on the internet. While driving on a bus. I KNOW.

So The Big Apple was as snazzy as I remember it. The trip went off without too many a hitch and I had an awesome time with the kids. As usual. The students typically become my favourite part of all the tours I do. Every now and then I get a little uneasy though... I mean, is it wrong to think that 15 year old boys are totally cute? Not in that gross I'm-a-cradle-robber way, but in that man, you've-got-POTENTIAL way. Some of these boys are going to grow up to be HAND-SOME. Give me a call in about seven years, yeah?

The inappropriate thinking-people-are-cute thing seems to go both ways. The group was generous enough to give me a tip. So a couple students came up and when one of the Student Council girls handed me a big wad of cash, I noticed there was a little slip of white paper folded up in it. There's a student's email address on it. A male student's email address.

I'm not totally sure how I feel about that yet. I mean, I'm flattered, of course. But I'm positive that this is crossing some sort of professional line somewhere.

4:12 PM

Friday, April 18, 2008

Naked In New York

Correction: It's a KING sized bed, not a queen. I can sleep on this thing sideways and there's still extra room (me being five foot nothing may have something to do with that...). And I have five pillows. Six, plus the extra one in the drawer. The bathroom is still big enough for a dance party.

I am currently in bed with my lappy, naked.

Today was beautiful - sunny, hot weather, a band performance in the morning, an afternoon outdoors, browsing theatres, in Central Park, at the MoMA... But these 7am to 11pm days really take it out of me - I'm totally wiped at the end of the day. And my ankles will never forgive me. Again, the kids make it worth it. And the perks, oh my gosh, the perks. Did I mention I'm seeing Phantom of the Opera tomorrow night? For free? And that I'm naked and on the internet, right now? I know that's probably a daily event for a lot of people, but being naked is special to me, okay?

I still have a cold, but I'm hanging onto my voice. Just barely. I'm downing two multi-vitamins and four echinacea pills a day, and drinking loads of Vitamin Water - I got 400% of my daily intake of vitamin C today! w00t!

So, I'm post-bath and all relaxed (not to mention already exhausted from my day) so I'm going to bed now (the king sized one with five pillows) naked.

Did I mention I'm naked?

11:56 PM

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Hate/Love My Job (But Mostly Love)

What's worse than being sick and getting two and a half hours of sleep, getting up at 4:30 in the morning, spending ten hours on a bus driving to NYC, being late getting into the city and having to frantically make last minute phone calls, entertaining and educating 47 kids and 4 teachers, and finally going to bed at midnight?

Absolutely nothing.

What makes all of it worth it at the end of a very, very long day?

Walking into a posh and plush hotel room (a couch! for me! a queen sized bed! for me! a bathroom so big it could host a dance party! FOR ME!). But moreover: asking your kids at the end of the night what their favourite part of the day was and they answer, "Meeting you!"

Totally worth it.

11:51 PM

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

On Our Own

I've been back home with my family for not even twenty-four hours and already, I want to be back in my own place. There's something unsettling about moving back with the fam after years and years of living on your own. It makes me lazy, really, and it's bad news.

Take, for example, this morning. I'm sick and I woke up freezing cold under my covers, so I go downstairs to try to procure a nice, warm breakfast. Except the problem is that I had forgotten that I had stepped back into an Asian household, so instead of being able to find eggs and bread to make myself a sunny-side-up-toast-dip, I found all sorts of weird meats and soups and vegetables in the fridge and a cassava cake on the counter. I couldn't even have cereal because there's only soy milk. I considered having cheese and crackers, but I couldn't do it because there was only processed cheese (Kraft Singles? ick) and No Name brand soda crackers in the cupboard. I popped a Ritz S'mores sandwich into my mouth. Oh no, no no no, not doing that again. So I was at a loss; I know you're supposed to starve a cold and all, but come on, a girl has got to eat. I was this close to having a bag of instant noodles, but you'll be proud to know that I didn't sink so low. I had a pizza pop instead.

Now, it wasn't exactly a pizza pop, it was a Hot Stuff, but I wasn't sure if saying that would have the same dramatic effect. Either way, it was a mixture of meatballs, cheese, and tomato sauce wrapped in some form of herb-y dough that I microwaved on high for one minute and forty-five seconds on a plate lined with paper towel (couldn't find any, used a tissue instead) and then let stand for two minutes before devouring. Mm, there's nothing like a nutritious breakfast to start the day, especially when I'm sick and leaving on tour tomorrow! Don't worry, I packed an arsenal of multivatimins and echinacea for that nice placebo effect, cough drops and throat lozenges so I can still talk to my kids, and packs of Neo Citran to zonk me out at nights. I take far, far better care of myself when I'm living on my own, I swear. You should see the meals I make, my roomie and I eat like Queens.

My brother, on the other hand, is about to embark on his very first living-on-your-own experience. He's being shipped to California for work and though he's only going to be there for six weeks, my parents are freaked out of their minds about how he's going to fare. I trust that he'll be just fine; of course, there's little to no doubt that he'll be living off frozen pizza, cans of soup and Kraft Dinner, but six weeks of that stuff won't kill him - it might make him grossly malnutritioned, but it won't kill him. I've been instructed to send him recipes. I think I'll just send reminders to eat some fresh fruits and vegetables. I've gotta start the kid out on this stuff slowly, one step at a time.

Take for example, the other night, when he and his girlfriend were going to make themselves and nice dinner. They bought some pork tenderloin and in her kitchen, she instructed him to just give it a rinse under the tap. He did as much, and then stood there, holding it in his hand and asked, "Now what?" She replied, "Well, you dry it." So he proceeds to wring it out. He tried to wring out a pork tenderloin LIKE A TOWEL.

This, ladies and gents, is my unfortunate brother who will be living on his own in Cali for six weeks. Send him recipes, my mother says? I think not. My emails will be more like: "Why don't you try eating an apple today? Or maybe buy some veggies that aren't pre-cut and frozen in a plastic bag?" Granted, I, his older sister who's been on her own for the past five years, just ate a Hot Stuff for breakfast.

I have nothing to say in defence of either of us.

11:38 AM