Posted February 14th, 2004 by Michelle

So the thing I’ve been waiting for? It happened. I have a new job. I’ll get in to that later.

On my mind currently: all my new friends are falling in love, and maybe I won’t like them so much anymore

2) people who say they turn their ringer off every night should actually turn them off or don’t be mad when I call at 3:30 AM

3) I might be back in NY this coming Tuesday

4) two quotes followed me tonight:

and you can dance for inspiration

the beautiful ones always smash the picture

No one I was with got the second one.

I can’t explain it, really.

Boy oh boy oh boy is work gonna suck tomorrow. But… it’s my last Saturday there.

Posted February 10th, 2004 by Michelle

I’m still waiting for the final word on this mysterious new opportunity that might fall into my life, so I still cannot share. Hopefully I will know by Friday, and then maybe I’ll buy a digital camera and expose you folks out there in cyber-space to the wonders and beauties of Napa Valley in the spring. How these two- my new whatever and a camera- are related, I don’t know, except that maybe I’ll eventually be able to afford said camera, but still, this spring is not to be missed. Yes- SPRING. Today was 68 degrees and my car was too hot when I climbed in it at 2 in the afternoon. I had to open the windows and the sunroof. And the mustard- god, the mustard- not to be believed. There is a field just past the CIA on Highway 29 that looks as though Minas passed his hand over every blade. It simply has to be seen to be believed. The mustard grows with such abandon, such rich, sunny health, that I almost believe it could cure everything that ails me. Almost.

A group of my friends here and I have started a tasting group. Once a week we get together, having decided on a varietal and a menu the week before, and we spend the afternoon and evening cooking, drinking, and talking, first about wine and then about everything. They have been wonderful nights, long and funny and so worth it. And suddenly I realize that I love my friends here. There are four of us, with a possible addition of a fifth, and we are perfectly matched. Our childhoods were alike only by being ridiculous, our younger adult years matched only by wanderlust, and now we are here, together, sometimes in my own home, and I have moments of not wanting to be anywhere else. Clearly these are the salad days but I don’t want them to end. I don’t want any of my friends to leave. I want this to go on and on and on. I’m scared even to acknowledge them, my circle of Elizabeth, Jon, and Mollie, my wine coven, because if I call it by name maybe it will leave me. But I can’t help but yell this from the rafters, even if I’m the only one hearing. I love my friends here. I want to keep them.

I have a ticket to fly to New York on the 19th to see Sean and Jordi’s show. I won’t know until Friday if I can go. But- well. I can name three things in my life that leave me vexed- three things, three possibilities, black and white decisions, and I just don’t know which way to go. Some of them will be decided for me, some I’ll just forget about and passive aggressively ignore, but maybe I’ll actually make a choice. Ugh. Who knows.

Why do I love sugar so much?

*sigh*

Posted February 7th, 2004 by Michelle

Too much information, running through my brain.

Too much information, driving me insane

I’ve heard twelve or thirteen Police songs in the last couple of days, but it’s this one that’s stuck with me. There is so much going on that I’m exhausted from the sheer volume of it, but at the same time, I read my brother Sean’s blog and I remember what it was like to be in New York where peoples’ lives are actually sometimes hard.

I’m still in the waiting game, days away from finding out if this major change in my life is going to happen. It’s a longer process than I first thought, but if I don’t have a clear decision by Wednesday than I shall make the decison for them. I have the rest of my life to plan, including a possible trip back to NYC to see Sean and Jordi do Shakespeare in Queens, and I’m anxious to get on with it.

I’m in another class at the Rudd Center-CIA/Greystone. This one’s called “Sensory Analysis” and is taught by the polar oppposite of Karen MacNeil. John B., as we are to call him, is an affable and funny guy, prone to cracking silly jokes and then laughing at them. He’s brilliant, though, and he is also a gifted teacher, but his style is opposite of Karen’s. So far the class is also a little elementary but I hope we really dive in tomorrow. It’s only a two day class, and I want to get a lot out of it.

I saw “In America” tonight and it has clearly left me at a loss for words. I ought to stop writing before I get any more distracted. If you haven’t seen it yet, well. You really ought.

Posted February 3rd, 2004 by Michelle

I’m not having a baby, I’m not in a great acting class, I’m just shuffling through this little life of mine. That’s it. Turns out there are a couple more days to wait unitl I find out if my new opportunity is exactly that, and the waiting is exhausting. Hope fades these days with alarming speed.

I actually had a great day today, very busy, ending with good friends and terrific conversation, but sometimes just before falling asleep I lose hope.

Posted February 2nd, 2004 by Michelle

Hopefully only one more day of waiting before I find out if my little life is going to be taking a new direction. Until then, I feel almost paralyzed with hope, and largely unable to write or talk about anything. It’s hard to believe that something so good could happen to me, not because I don’t deserve it, but because these things just don’t happen very often.

I have a good friend here who has seen some really tough times, but in the last week, she’s 1)met an unbelievable terrific guy and 2) gotten the job offer of a lifetime. I’m so happy for her I can barely contain myself. The sucky part is that I’m also envious, in a way. I want these things to happen to me, too. So while I truly delight in the good things that happen to others, I can’t help but wonder when the Fates are going to draw my number, when they might deliver on the gifts bestowed upon me when they stood ‘round my cradle.

And then I also wonder, did I already squander those gifts? And then I also know that these good things will only happen to me if I am able to stop desiring them. I feel caught between a rock and a hard place: I want more from my life, but I feel selfish asking. I feel that every time I go looking for something, it becomes that much more elusive.

Posted February 1st, 2004 by Michelle

In one of those familiar turn of events, the week I should have been writing is the week when there is no time. There are easily 20 moments in this past week that deserve pen to paper but it has simply not been possible- not when I have to get up as early as I do to get to work or class. It’s been non-stop since a week ago Saturday, not one day off, and every single day has held some element of surprise, some excellent curve ball. I’ve not had time to think about most of them, let alone write about anything.

I have a possible new opportunity that could change my life, certainly for the better, and possibly even keep me here for a more specific amount of time. I’ve not yet felt grounded here, not on any level. I’ve felt that at any moment, I might just lift off and float away. This has the possibility of making me feel a little more connected to my life here. But I won’t know until next week how real this opportunity is, so I’m trying my best not to count on it. If it happens, I’ll yell it from the rooftops.

I finished my Mastering Wine class on Friday, and found it to be perfect. Karen MacNeil is one of the most gifted teachers I’ve ever known. Her passion, her authority, her very being is extraordinary, and I am sorely sad that I won’t spend the next couple of years of my life in her company. Being around a woman so involved, so brilliant- it’s almost enough to make me think I really, truly want to pursue this.

I’m at work as I write this, so I can’t finish even a single thought without interruption. I hope to have a little time tonight to do what I gotta do.

Posted January 28th, 2004 by Michelle

Please excuse my absence of late- seems I’m full of excuses, but at least they are good ones.

I am taking a class at the Culinary Institute of America, here in St Helena, CA. The class is called Mastering Wine I, and is being taught by none other than Karen MacNeil, author of wine bible, brilliant Sommelier, wine expert of wine experts. And it is wonderful. I’m realizing that it’s as much the classroom environment as my object of study that I love. I’m good at this. I dig being in a class, filled by smart people, taught by a smart person, hearing about a topic that fascinates me and, better yet, experiencing undeniable truth that I’m learning something.

Speaking of which, I’m off to a Bordeaux wine dinner at the CIA where 70 of the 2000 Bordeaux will find their way into my little wine class. Yeah, you know, 2000. Vintage of the century. I mean, if I have to live in Napa Valley, this is what I should be doing, right? Also, for those of you who will appreciate this, the mustard had sprung out of the ground overnight. Beautiful, charming mustard flowers, nodding at each other in the breeze, filling in the rows between the vines with a brilliant blanket of yellow. If ever there was a time to visit, it’s now. (hint hint)

Posted January 25th, 2004 by Michelle

I’m doing that thing I do again, that thing where all I want to do is hang out by myself. It doesn’t help that I’m struggling to gain at least a partial state of health, and for some reason the way I think I’m going to get healthy is to spend lots of time alone staring into space. I mean, it’s working a little bit, but I have to careful about isolating too much.

I’ve been very sick off and on since I moved here to Napa Valley, and we have finally discovered the cause: my room. I can’t name all of the bad stuff that is floating around down in what is essentially the basement of the house, but the guy who tested them said they weren’t “toxic” but that some of them were “very elevated”. Which is good news. If they had been toxic, I’d be dead. Instead, I’m just constantly sick, and the only time I felt good was when I went back to New York for a week. I’m on a number of drugs to combat the icky stuff that is running rampant in my respiratory system and I feel rather far from being actually well.

I also finally went to the podiatrist who listened to my story of foot pain woe for about thirty seconds before sending me straight to x-ray. The good news is I don’t have heel spurs, I just have rather severe Plantar Fasciitis. She said that one cortisone treatment would bring down the inflammation and ultimately make me better.

I thought, Super! A couple of pills and I’ll feel great! But I was clearly deluding myself. She said, “I’ll go get the injections” and my heart jumped into my throat. I’m not sure if I’ve detailed on this blog my phobia of needles. It’s not that I hate them, or hate being near them. I don’t mind at all when they are pointed to enter someone else’s flesh. It’s when I think about them entering my own skin that I get woozy. It took my doctor about five minutes to get the shots ready during which time I tried to talk myself out of passing out. When she returned, I told her that if I fainted, just to let my lie there until I came around. She said, “Aren’t you an EMT?” I smiled weakly, unable to explain, and tried to prepare myself for what was about to happen.

She swabbed the side of my foot, the fleshy part between the sole and the heel, and produced a very thin but way too long needle. It HURT. Each shot took easily about five hours to shove into the meat of my poor, aching feet, and I tried not to hyperventilate because of the pain. Before she started, and after hearing about my little fainting problem, she pulled a screen in front of me, but because of the angle of my chair, I had a perfect view of each needle plunging into my skin. When it was all over, I laid back and said, “I’ll be right back”. But I didn’t faint. I just felt woozy and barfy for about five minutes, at which time the receptionist, who was told to check on me, stuck her head in the door and flashed her shiny braces at me. “Ya’ll right?” “Yeah. Be right out.”

She said that the pain should start feeling better immediately, but that I needed to stay off my feet for a good week. No tennis, no running, not even major walking. But that was Thursday, and right now, Sunday morning, my feet hurt as much as ever. I’m going to have to call her in the morning and find out if they will ever actually stop hurting.

Maybe I haven’t actually wanted to be well. Maybe it’s a crutch I’ve used for a solid year, starting with hemorrhoids, going to my cervical cancer scare, to my plantar issues, to my infected respiratory system. Maybe I’ve used my illnesses to explain why I’m not currently in Africa. I don’t know. But I’ve finally reached a point where I’m just done with this. I want to be well, I want to get back into shape, and I want my 31-year-old body to start acting like one rather than a diseased body three times my age.

Posted January 22nd, 2004 by Michelle

Too tired, too sick still, and I had needles stuck in my feet today. I have many foreign substances floating around my body. Some of them I can’t spell. One is cortisone (for my feet), another is histex, another is good ‘ol ibuprofen. Ughy. More later.

Posted January 21st, 2004 by Michelle

The other night, Ian and I were discussing the merits and the disadvantages to having a blog. It’s been rather useful to me, only getting me into trouble when I’ve had too much to drink and a recent heartbreak. In the past, I’ve avoided writing in my journal when things were bad. Obviously this has not been the case with my blog, and while many things I’ve written about were gross or embarassing, I’m glad to have had this outlet. I’m sure I would cringe if I went back and read my entries from August, or from whenever I was having particularly icky health issues, and I know I’ve alienated people who I wish were still my friend. But yet, here I am. Still.

I know I’ve not been writing, but self-flagellation gets boring even for me. I’ve not been living some sort of “wrong” life. I’m not sick because I’m not taking care of my soul or anything. Well… okay, maybe I’ll lay a little blame on myself for my persistent lack of health. The fact is, things are different around here. The air, the sky, the pollen, the mold, my sleeping hours, my working hours, my friends, my every single day is absolutely, completely different than what I’ve known, maybe ever. And my body is having a hard time of it. I’m not stressed, not exactly, except for the constant pressure I put on myself to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life. It’s enough to drive my body sick.

I suddenly remembered, in the middle of an evening watching movies and eating dinner with a friend, about a night during Ian’s wedding. It may have been the night of the rehearsal dinner, but I’m not completely sure. We went Night Swimming. It was raining, cloudly, and not really warm, and someone had a bottle of scotch, and it was perfect. We were playing Chicken and Ian’s good friend Summer kicked my ass. That lady is strong.

By the by, I’m looking for a date to Sean’s wedding. Here’s what I’m looking for: most important: love my brother Sean. And Jordana. And the rest of my family. Please be funny, courteous, charming but not too much so, a decent dancer, kind, and brilliant. Don’t be weird in a bad way. Don’t be the kind of guy who: drinks too much and is mean or really stupid, will vote for Bush (DUH!!), or wears pleated pants with any regularity. No major soapboxes either, unless they are well-informed and involve specific facts that bash the current administration (whee! I like this!) Don’t be a smart-ass unless it’s truly funny. Don’t let me take myself too seriously. Watch my intake of vodka gimlets. Do be the guy who wants to shoot a couple extra games of pool when everyone else is winding down for the night.

I best stop. I could go on forever.

Anyone too smarmy or too handsome need not apply. Anyone with the first name Viggo and last name Mortensen is allowed one or two strikes from the above list. Anyone who posesses all the above should fly his butt out to California, or drive if he happens to be close, and let me buy you a cup of coffee. We’ll take it from there.