Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer

Shells and I went to see the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra last night. As someone who was raised on classical music ( I met Andrea Bocelli when I was 8), I have been trying to persuade my other half of the merits of such an outing for quite some time. It wasn't until she was listening to NPR and heard Jane Lynch was singing with them that this became a true option.

"You would love this show," Shells started. "It's gonna be, you know, old-timey music," as she snapped her fingers a la jazz singers.

My response: "Jane Lynch sings?!"

I have been a fan of hers since my sister and I saw her in "Role Models," and Shells and I enjoy her weekly on "Hollywood Game Night." Admittedly, I am also a fan of the schmaltzy jazz music-- who doesn't love a little Ella or Nat King Cole?

Entering the always lavishly decadent Heinz Hall, we took our seats in anticipation (after showing Shelley the downstairs area for women, full of mirrors and long benches in case you faint from your own beauty or something). Jane Lynch emerged from stage left in a blue suit (who owns more suits-- her or Hillary???) singing "Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer." I was thoroughly amused by this, and Shelley leaned over and asked "Do you still love me?" while trying not to laugh as well.

Pale people problems...but so close!

Lynch can sing, and her accompaniment by Brad Ellis and the PSO only enhanced her tour through the Great American songbook, crooning Cole Porter and Irving Berlin before moving over to Joni Mitchell (!). Ellis compiled a medley of Mitchell songs for Lynch, and she introduced it as "This is his gift to me... and you........and us" as the music began. I emitted a loud laugh at her humor, and was entirely alone in this (which I found more hilarious (tugboat)).

One of my favorite parts of the show was how Lynch was able to come out and sing these songs to connect to a whole array of people (many of whom were over the age of 60). There was no discussion of her being a famous lesbian or anything like that. She was just a person, entertaining, and it was great.

Since the show, "Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer" has been in my head on repeat. I sang it this morning while Shells was making breakfast and she yelled, "Babe c'mon! I just got rid of it!" and I later heard her singing it under her breath.

For the show, we got a little dressed up (it is Heinz Hall, after all). I wore this little white ruffle dress I have been waiting to break out since the everlong spring that is standard Western Pennsylvania fare. It's from J&J Petite Boutique, which specializes in clothes for girls 5'4" and under. My 5'1" self is grateful for the opportunity to wear a dress in a flattering length instead of looking like a kid playing dress-up! Fellow short girls, check them out!

Hope you're all enjoying your lazy, hazy, crazy July!

For Tomboys Who Sometimes Go Glam

I’ve always thought of myself as kind of a tomboy—not the rough & tumble athletic type, but the Vans and t-shirt kind of girl who can’t be bothered with manicures or purses (what would I even put inside?!) or keeping up with the latest makeup trends. I’m too busy and too laid back for that. In the cooler months, a cardigan or a flannel is my go-to, and in the summer months I like a flowy top or a sundress (which, I recognize, is infinitely more girly than the winter attire but also about as effortless as it gets—dresses are one piece, eliminating any need for matching). And let’s not start with me trying to curl my own hair. Why can I do things to other people I can’t finagle on myself? Mysteries.

            

I feel like every time I log on to any form of social media, there are either women who look completely flawless (read: unrealistic), or women doing makeup tutorials. Look, I’ve watched “Ru Paul’s Drag Race,” and after seeing average dudes become gorgeous women, I get the benefits of contouring and enhancing brows. My sister is a makeup aficionado herself and always has that doll-faced look that astounds me.

However, these makeup tutorials are always on super speed with some EDM music in the background and still end up being ten minutes long. I do NOT have time for that routine when I’m tumbling out of bed at 6am. Furthermore, all the contouring and layering results in a different looking person than the one running to the store in sweats and a messy bun on Sunday morning. As I said, my sister is into makeup and said she enjoys wearing it, and that’s wonderful—as long as it’s something women want to do for themselves and no one else, have at it! I enjoy eyeliner in that it makes me look awake and thus a little more human on the days where I’m dragging through in a sleep-deprived state. 

           

Bridesmaid :)

That being said, I do like the occasional smokey eye. Ever since I tried it out for my best friend Liz’s wedding a couple years ago, I love using it as a go-to feminine touch for my standard finger-raked locks and Chapstick. I don’t wear a lot of makeup—I typically keep the routine to a basic neutral eye shadow, signature winged eyeliner, and some mascara. Boom. I like the minimalistic look and sometimes even opt for just a couple coats of mascara (especially when it’s humid outside, because why bother?). However, I’m wont to expand for special occasions, such as the aforementioned weddings, holidays, or date nights where we actually feel like going out. 

I pulled my inspiration from Kristen Stewart. Say what you want about her shrinking violet personality and the Twilight saga, but the girl rocks the smokey eye look better than anyone I’ve seen, and she does it with variety as well as finesse: bold black rocker-chic, turquoise highlights, or neutral browns and greys. I went with the latter for my wedding look, and it’s soft enough for me to recreate every day (though Mary only knows I don’t want to).

         

I don’t use any kind of anything on my face—except for the minor sweep of Cover Girl blush on each cheek to give my Casper skin a glow in the winter. I swear by Proactiv’s three step system—sensitive skin, of course, because I’m allergic to everything—and I finish with their green tea moisturizer for a nice dewy effect that’s also great for my skin. That’s it.

           

I actually made a tutorial for my femme fatale eye shadow routine because sometimes even the chillest chicks like to look a little daintier. J

Thunderstorms & Front Porches

I'm a pretty nostalgia-ridden person. I love the way certain things bring you back to a previous place in your mind. The smell of snow in the atmosphere evokes Christmas and all it encompasses, the feel of low sunlight and Andrea Bocelli brings me back to the summer I was ten, and anytime it storms in the summer, I'm with my grandfather on the front porch at my grandparents' house.

The house is one of those standard older homes, and I spent so much of my childhood there that it's inextricable from my memories. The first poem I ever had published was one I wrote about a tree in the backyard that was actually four trees woven into one, with a perfect spot in the middle for my tiny being to squeeze in to write and daydream. The bush in the front yard with yellow flowers we would pick and throw into jars of water and call it perfume (oh, dear), and the cigar tree in the back yard with the huge leaves we used to think we could string together and make a "flying machine" with to take us around the world. My cousins, my sister, and I were quite characters.

My favorite memory, though was sitting on the porch in those hot hazy summer days and talking to my grandfather, my Puppa. The porch was brick, the awning was burgundy, and the creaking porch swing was one of those green and yellow vinyl numbers from the 1970s, host to numerous behinds, porch-sleepers, and a six-year-old version of me who ate too much pasta and then rocked there with my head in my grandmother's lap until I acquainted that pasta with my pink hi-top Converse.

He was off-the-boat Italian at 13. He fought in World War II. I never heard him say a bad word about anyone. He would sit there, in his chair on the porch, staring straight ahead, hazel eyes, white hair combed back and softly curling, and those blue pants everyone over age 70 owns. Sometimes we would just sit in silence, which was always comfortable. He was a man of few words, but sometimes he would break me out of my reverie to talk.

"What are you thinking about? You always look like you're thinking about something," he said to me once. Perhaps I got that from him.

He shared stories of WWII and life on his little farm in Potenza. He told me about what it was like coming here. We talked about my parents splitting up, and about school, and my dreams to be a writer or a musician someday. Often, my sister and my mum joined us. Nunna would come out and join us too, after the three of them finished their post-dinner cowboy coffee in the old Sands mugs. Occasionally, my cousins would come sit with us too, but I secretly liked best when it was just the two of us. I loved the stories. I loved the companionable silence, or the laughter we'd share watching the neighborhood and all its movements, with the long, lonely train whistle as the soundtrack-- these moments the pulse of my otherwise awkward childhood years, all hair and gangly limbs.

When it would storm, we would sit there and watch the lightening crash and the rain pour, rolling in heavy drops off the edges of the scalloped awning. It was terrifying and awesome at the same time to be so close to something so dangerous. God's bowling, the adults would say, which made it less frightening somehow.

Perhaps this is why I still have such an affinity for people's front porches-- less common these days. This could be why I am drawn to the way the lightening dances majestically across the sky, even as the thunder makes me leap out of my skin. All during June, the heaviest month of storms in a Pittsburgh year, I think of my Puppa and miss him fiercely. When I see the thunder rolling in and I detect that smell on the breeze, the one that means the skies darken to a grey-green and the rain lets go, I think of him and I feel close to him again.

Matriculation, Relaxation, & Chasing Waterfalls

Hi friends! It has been an absurdly long time since I've written anything for this blog. I feel I have a legitimate reason though-- I was going crazy working two jobs and plowing through getting a masters degree in 9 months, and as that was wrapping up I was on the grind hardcore.

We matriculate a lot.

Since graduation has been over, I don't think I've opened my laptop more than a handful of times. In spite of teaching at a cyber school for the past year (with a different laptop), my love of technology has not increased any and having the luxury of unplugging was glorious to me. I got to do so many things I hadn't done: read books I wanted to read (rather than what I had to read), play guitar, fiddle with my new camera, and of course spend time with people I hadn't seen in a while.

Now that that's happened, though, and the school year is over and I'm just writing articles over here, I can get back to blogging on a regular basis (and hopefully incorporate images captured on the aforementioned camera).

With our favorite professor, Dr. Donne

Yes, we wore Converse.

Graduation was a whirlwind, as were the weeks leading up to it. I am so grateful to my huge support system for helping me through it-- especially Shells and my family. Honestly though, although at times we wanted to murder each other for deciding to go back to school (again), I couldn't have gotten through it without my BFF Liz. We endured four-hour night classes two nights a week, suffered online courses, plowed through homework, and motivated one another all while working multiple jobs each and trying to run our households. Even though I completed finals and made Shells swear to me she would never let me go back to school, there was something about watching all the doctoral candidates process in wearing those odd hats that made me contemplate the possibility of someday-- though, dear God, not any day soon.

US side 

Visiting Three Sisters Island

After all of that, I was lucky enough to have three days in a row off of work and Shells took off too and surprised me with a trip to Niagara Falls, which was exactly what I needed to calm my reeling mind and relax with her. Apart from a day trip when I was in eighth grade, I've never been there and I enjoyed it immensely. There is something fun about roaming a city you're unfamiliar with, even for a control freak like me.

Misty Maids 

It was wonderful to walk around in the sunshine exploring with my favorite person. Sure, there are a lot of tourist traps (which we went in primarily to mock) but there is also a lot of beauty. It's crazy to me that that is all nature/God in its glory. Also, I had never ridden the Maid of the Mist and that was the one thing I wanted the most...so we rode it twice (my mum said I was like five years old).

Wistfully gazing at the Falls...

Another thing I noticed while we were there, in addition to the gorgeous scenery and intense crowds and the jokes of my love, was the incredible amount of people taking aesthetic shots in a way that said "hey, I see you trying to get by but IDGAF because I need this same shot with every member of my family, baiiii" so that naturally led to me awkwardly standing there and impatiently waiting and Shells saying "Okay, that's enough" and assertively ensuring we get our turn before our trip is over.

By the end of the first day, as we walked off an awesome dinner-- culinary students delivering five-star dining at Olive Garden prices-- and went back to catch the falls in that lovely low sunlight I am obsessed with, we were taking our own aesthetic shots (partially (mostly) jokingly).

Since then, I've been reading like crazy (I have a shelf waiting for me to read its contents), trying to introduce Zorro to his harness so I can take him outside (he is less than interested), and I planted flowers-- like, from seeds. I feel like a small child because I am so excited each time a new pot starts sprouting. Here's to hoping I don't kill them!!!

Looking forward to everything this summer has to offer and all the beauty that comes along with it. More super soon!

Love,
Rebecca

Love and Light

Over the last few days, listening to the news has been a rather frightening activity, leading many people (including myself) to anxious feelings, wandering thoughts, and horrific dreams. It's terrifying to think that humanity can be so cruel, and that so many of us are at the mercy of so few power-hungry leaders who are pretty detached from reality. These leaders, who make calls to drop chemical or nuclear attacks on PEOPLE, make decisions which impact us overall.

It makes things seem pretty bleak.

My post for this week, then, is written with the purpose of spreading love and light. I seek to draw your attention to the good and the positive-- hence The Bright Side-- and times like these are no exception.

It's easy when things seem to be going really well to forget anything evil in the world, just as it is difficult to remember the beauty and love in the world during times like this.

Look around-- God has created a wonderful world for us, complete with human beings who seek, in their own way, to spread this message of peace and love and beauty. I know so many people personally who put so much of themselves into everything they do-- from my mum, who texts me every morning to say hello and give me a weather update, to my girlfriend who makes food infused with the thought and purpose and tenderness, to any of my friends-- most of whom are teachers or nurses-- who pour themselves into their work every day with the simple purpose of making a difference.

The music we listen to, the books we read, the food we eat, the houses we live in, even the pictures you like by some random amateur blogger/photographer on Instagram... all of these are done with passion and purpose and happiness. To me, this is en route to spreading love and light to others.

Any thing that you do that makes you happy, that makes someone happy, that is done with goodness and pride and thoughtfulness, is your way of making a difference, of ensuring that NO ONE has power over your life but you. YOU make your path, you have the power over your life and what happens to you. If enough of us join together with this same notion in mind, and try to spread our love and our light, then we will be bigger and more powerful and beautiful and fearsome than any figures of "power" that we see in our tragic world today.

I have a friend, Julie, who is a fellow English teacher. In typical nerd fashion, we were discussing poetry-- because why not?-- and sharing some of our favorites. William Ernest Henley's "Invictus" came up, and the whole poem is so empowering, but the last stanza in particular stands out in support of exactly what I'm trying to convey today: "It matters not how strait the gate/How charged with punishments the scroll/I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul."

Try-Pod Month

So, March is try-pod month. I acknowledge that March is almost over, but I would be loathe if I didn't get my recommendations and reviews out there in the next 1.5 days. Try-pod = try a podcast. I despise talk radio-- I turn on the radio to listen to music, not commercials and people making lame jokes. Podcasts, however, are nothing like that (except perhaps for the occasional lame jokes).

I first started listening to podcasts (by choice) about four years ago. Prior to that, I had them forced on me over various roads trips to various places with some old friends, volume blaring as people recounted little stories here and there in the nasal tones of Ira Glass.

Then I was introduced to Serial, and I was hooked. I'll start with that one. Serial, season one, is Sarah Koenig telling a murder mystery serially, over twelve episodes. It's the story of then-teen Adnan Syed, who was either framed for the murder of his girlfriend, or a vengeful ex-boyfriend. Koenig hooks you in Dickensian style, along with a plunk-a-plunk piano tune, and draws you in. I listened to this CONSTANTLY-- while I was driving, while I was folding laundry, while I was blow-drying my hair. And then it was over. Season two impressed me less, and I am still waiting for a third.

S-Town just started and downloaded itself to my phone a few days ago-- same people who produce This American Life and Serial, and I am an episode and a half in and already hooked.

The Minimalists is a podcast I've recently gotten into in an attempt to de-clutter my life and get back to basics-- use things, love people, and all that. It's interesting to hear their insights and the ways they suggest going through things. What is stuff, anyway? (P.S. It's harder than it sounds-- I vacillate between hating clutter and being sentimental-- not a good in-between).

Then there's The Moth. I discovered this one accidentally, whimsically. I love its hazy, dreamy green cover, and everything about the concept. The Moth is an hour long, usually 4 stories, and themed each episode. There are story slams in various areas of the U.S., including my own little artsy Pittsburgh. It's done under the guise of the type of stories people used to tell one another just because, on sleepy porches during humid summer nights with slow breezes rolling in and moths fluttering around the glow of lamplight. My responses to these stories are as animated as the storytellers themselves-- laughter, shock, emotion, raw and exposed onstage, over a microphone, over the radio.

In a similar vein is This American Life. Ira Glass hosts this show every Sunday, and it too is themed. The stories are poignant and real-- vague enough that they are relatable but real enough that they still connect to everyone at the same time. That's the power of good journalism. It is inspirational, as a writer, to see people doing the thing you love to do yourself: to tell these stories of ordinary people doing ordinary things in a somewhat extraordinary way. People leave an impact on us, and Glass's narration opens listeners up to one more way of truly connecting with people, in a way that moves beyond news feeds and tweets.

Finally, Stuff You Should Know, whose hosts, Josh and Chuck, are like long-lost friends. They cover every topic imaginable and even some I've never thought of, and they do it in typical How Stuff Works style, making it all relevant, humorous, and informative concurrently.

There you have it. Check out some of my suggestions, and if you do, tell me about it in the comments section below. I'd love to hear from you! :)

Bingo: 24 Ways to Win

Recently, Shells and I went to play bingo at a hall near us. This was the first time I'd played bingo since I was in Catholic grade school. I had fond memories of this game and Shelley had mentioned playing it periodically in attempts to win money, so we went. This particular hall offered cash prizes all night, including a $1,000 prize for the coverall card at the end of the night.

When we pulled into the lot (behind a Coach bus laden down with bingo-bag-wielding folk), we were immediately overwhelmed by how crowded it was.

"Surely all these people aren't here just for bingo," I said, but as we walked inside, we learned that was indeed the case. Buffet tables with rigatoni, salads, and bread slices for $6 a meal (pass), the perfume reminiscent of my grandmother lingering in the air, and the knowledge that we were easily the youngest people in there added to the feel.

We purchased our cards and doppers and sat down, taking it all in. I pulled out the Trolls I had stuffed in my pocket (a suggestion by my friend Liz) and set them on the table in front of us after noticing more than a few other people with varying good luck charms. Besides, these trolls had come as a gift alongside the movie after my "Trolled" blogpost, and even found their way into my lunch bag, so I felt it was appropriate.

"Put those away! Seriously babe!" Shelley hissed. "I can't believe you brought those!"

I sat there in my usual staunch refusal to budge, and they remained there as Shelley muttered about Roseanne episodes and bingo ladies.

The experience was fun, overall. It went on for nearly four hours, with a handful of workers on a constant loop over the aisles between the tables like those ducks on a loop at a carnival game or something. The whole time they walked, they yelled, hustling players for tickets for raffles, scratch off cards, additional playing cards...

"I'm going to hear these calls in my nightmares tonight," Shells quipped.

The callers went so quickly we could barely keep up, dabbing away at numbers with hardly any time to talk to each other in between. I was cracking up. Between the two of us, we played 42 cards at any given time. We didn't win a cent, and more than once made half-serious jokes about having to practice high-speed bingo at home. Additionally, we learned that there were now apparently 24 ways to get a standard bingo-- whatever happened to standard, good old across, up and down, or diagonal??? We were probably getting bingos and not realizing it.

In spite of all of that, it was a blast. We were out together, taking a break from the work school sleep cycle that has been my life the last 7 months, and we enjoyed it. We laughed, we did something new, and the people-watching was prime.

The bright side:
The trolls weren't good luck charms, but they did hold our cards in place under the blowing air conditioning.