Czerny's Revenge

March 21. Day Day 264.

Czerny. Light of my life, fire of my fingers. My sin, my soul. Czer-ny: the tip of the fingers tapping thrice as the tongue taps twice to enounce your maddening name. Czer, as in Cher, Ny as in Niet. Not dear, dear...

His first name was Carl, but to me he was, and will always be, Czerny.

(With apologies to Nabokov.)

I sat down this afternoon and did some Czerny exercises. For those of you who were blessed with piano lessons, this name will surely be familiar to you, as well as to your neighbors. Up and down the keyboard, skipping a note. Back down, skipping two. Over and over. And over. (see below.)

All in the name of strength, dexterity, flexibility and discipline.

Uber-yah.

Now, Czerny wasn't the hotshot of the musical world. He studied under Beethoven and was a respected teacher. But he was no, how you say, maestro.

Yet look how content he looks, almost stifling a smile beneath those taut lips, that impertinent tuft of hair, that hopeful gaze of his. Could strength, dexterity, flexibility and discipline be the key to inner peace? Fulfillment? Fortune? (He did die a wealthy man, thanks to his music, and late in composer years: 66!)

No. I'll tell you why he's smiling. Because unlike Beethoven and Shostakovich, who are enjoyed by only the most skilled of pianists, Czerny actually gets play. Daily. All over the world. Thousands of hands everywhere, doing his bidding. If that's not a sure path to immortality, I don't know what is.

Well, as I attempted to decipher those notes of his, my fingers stumbled something awful. (Wow -- I would never say that sentence in real life, so what would I write it? I will keep it here, if only to document the wild and zany experiment that is this blog.)

But it was still playing, of sorts, and it felt amazing.

Why am I telling you this?

Because for the first time in years, I was playing on my very own piano!

And to get to this happy point, of course I asked for something.

Now that I live in a house and I'm planning on staying here a while, my mom suggested I take my piano. Years ago, she moved it to the garage, deeming it too ugly for the living room. ("I don't have room for it anymore," she explained gingerly, but with a little prodding I found out the real reason. No problem. I was at college and never touched it when I came home, so why shouldn't she replace it with a pair of bookcases?)

An hour ago, a pair of brawny movers delivered it to my house, and here we are now. Before, when I called to schedule the move and asked for a quote, the mover asked what other figures I'd heard.

"Why don't you give me a quote first?" I replied.

"$125."

"Really. I've gotten $100."

"Alright, $100."

Gained: Sort of $25. I definitely had heard $100 from other movers, but I wanted to use these guys since they were available first. So actually, I saved a week, not $25. Either way -- I'm thrilled!

Two effing good promos!

March 20. Day 263.

Update: I went to see the nearby Ikea shelf and asked the seller for a discount. He agreed. So far, no Craigslister since July 1 has turned down my request for $5 off -- whether the asking price is $40 or $20. Interesting...

Am I shooting too low?

My question today was for a project that's still just a twinkle in my eye. I have decided to register and host a few domains for future uses, and I came across a company with some good specials now. One promo code informed me, "Congratulations, you are getting our best rate possible!" (Something like that.) But I wasn't buying it. What if there was something better, more up to date? So I called their agent and asked her to price out the total with each of the three codes I had found.

Turns out, the promo that promises the best rate is only for 20% off, for a total of $119. I also had a different code, for 50% off, which brought the total to $71.

Eff-yeah!!!!*

Gained: $48.

Earlier, I tried signing up for a new promo at the bank. The flyer, "Earn $50 blah blah blah," screamed New Customers Only, but it was worth a try. "Can I sign up for this?" I asked the teller. "Not if you already have an account," she replied. No prob. (But if you have some cash to spare, gentle reader, and access to Bank of America, you can always sign up, earn your perk and close out! Here's the link.)

Gained II: Nothing lost, nothing gained.

*I'm not usually this demure. Ask around, and you'll find out that this percussive word and I became fast friends at the age of 4 (my age -- the word was at least 700 years old that year). One day, my neerdowell buddy -- which is to say, my absolutely amazing and inspiring troublemaker of a friend -- Stuart, taught me to play a game.

"I'm going to whisper something in your year, and then you yell it at the top of your lungs, OK?"

I agreed.

"Fuck," he whispered.

I'd never heard it before. I figured I'd get in trouble if Stuart was involved, but I wanted to do it anyway. "FUCK!"

"Do it again!"

"FuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucK!"

"Louder!"

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-- Tata?"

My dad had bolted over. He sent Stuart away, spanked me, and shut me in my room.

These days, every time I use swear words on this site, my dad calls and berates me for being a poorly mannered young lass -- so I'm holding off. I get his point. Tis not ladylike.

And yet...

Don't you love how getting all meta lets you get away with stuff?

And doesn't parental wrath have its charms, when you're old enough to appreciate it?

Eff yeah.

The "yuj" -- $5 off Craigslist or free delivery?

March 19. Day 262.

For a few weeks I've been eyeing a tall and slender cd/dvd tower from Ikea, since it's just perfect for storing some jewelry and keepsakes. Fits between a small dresser and the wall in the bedroom.

It goes for $40 to $50 new, depending on the color, and that's just too much in my book. So once in a while I've checked good old CL, and finally two appeared today -- black and white.

I emailed the owner of the black one asked for $5 off, or free delivery since she lives about 30 minutes away.

She agreed.

Then I emailed the owner of the white one, who lives a few blocks away, and said I'd like to come by and see it.

He agreed.

Gained: Not sure which to go for.

Career Day? Career Help?

March 18. Day 261.

I'm speaking at my high school's career day.

Let me repeat that.

I. Am speaking at my high school's career day.

Yes. That chick in her nth year of grad school, who does do occasional freelance work but is essentially careerless (let's call it "careerfree," shall we?)... is going to talk at career day.

You see, the alumni coordinator called me today and said they were looking for someone to round out the panel. An Exhibit X. Basically, someone who could describe "what happens when you let grad school happen to you." I perked up. Interesting... She continued: "Many students are actually quite intrigued by the profile of the conflicted young academic who is defined by uncertainty at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Faced with either too few or too many options upon finishing the degree. You know the type. Seeing that you're about to become a full-time blogger on food stamps once you graduate, I thought you'd have many valuable lessons for our students," she suggested.

No silly, that's not what happened.

I emailed her. I told her I'm a grad student and writer/blogger, and asked if I could speak. I imagine that while a lot of kids will want to hear the doctors, lawyers and athletes, maybe there's still someone out there who likes words? books? writing? reading? dreaming? Fingers crossed...

Gained I: A chance to pay it forward. Have you ever spoken at career day? What was it like?

Speaking of careers...

I asked for something else today, more self-focused, also career oriented. Coincidence?

I emailed a couple of friends with a very specific strategy question -- because they're much more experienced than I am after working in the real world the the years I've been in grad school. Things like performance reviews, networking, leveraging opportunities, making yourself indispensable, buying low and selling high, the pros and cons of learning to play your boss's sport, the inns and outs of MBAs are all abstractions to me. Academia has its share of politics, but I've kept away. These friends, however, are living this stuff. Not only do they know how to work a room -- their jobs depend on it. So, having someone to turn to when I have a question like this is immensely valuable.

They replied immediately, with different angles and approaches -- I'm so grateful. Thanks!!! I'll let you now how it turns out!!

xo,
Rox

Gained II: Amazing career advice -- better than any book or website could ever teach me. Their wisdom will give me tools to avoid certain mistakes and make my way through the professional labyrinth, as soon as I start hunting for the cheese...

Pay me? And hire me again?

March 17. Day 260.

Several months ago, I landed a short-term gig for a heavy hitter in the industry I'd like to end up in.

It was thrilling to work with them and see the final results implemented.

Only I haven't been paid yet.

Today I emailed my boss, asking him what the deal is. And with this opportunity, I proposed a follow-up project.

The chances, again, are slim. The firm is big and powerful. It has more eager+qualified employees to choose from than an In-n-out Triple Triple has calories (a lot, OK???). Just because I got one gig doesn't mean it will be easier to get another. Etc etc.

But wouldn't that be sublime!?

Gained: TBD.

Who farted?

March 16. Day 259.

Months ago, I invited anyone from Asker, Norway who glances upon this site to drop me a line. Today, I got my first answer ever! It's from Tom, an authentic Askerite! Askerino! (I'll have to, er, ask him which is right.)

Here's his message:

Hey!

I'm from Asker in Norway! I've lived here all my life... 25 years. I like it alot! ;)
There are many beautiful places in Norway and Asker is one of them! We have nature right out side our doors, lakes and even the ocean!

Well... Just thought I would drop you a line, since I found your site ;)

Regards,
Tom

That totally made my day. I will write back once I finish this chapter draft. I've told my self NO EMAILS until I finish this damn chapter. So. Close!!! (Also why I've been slow to update, lately.)

***

Starting this project, I imagined I'd be asking for: a better starting salary or a better deal on a car, among other things. Certainly not this...

But here are the facts you need to know before passing judgment:

Around 3 p.m. in the neighborhood of Normal Heights, I found myself sitting next to three individuals in a popular cafe. They were:

1) a young man with a video game addiction
2 & 3) a pair of work colleagues editing some digital videos, passing a pair of chunky headphones back and forth and making comments.

They all sat down at roughly the same time. Roughly ten minutes after they joined the area of this cafe where I was sitting, a foul stench permeated the region.

I brushed it off (so to speak), chanted "mind over matter," and dug deeper into my work.

Until it happened again. And again.

Now my mind was racing.

Was it the guy? Classic dweeb, dressed in a computer contest shirt, focused on his Warcraft to the point of refusing eye contact with people who tried to walk past him and needed him to move his knees. Self-absorption to the point of solipsism. Prime candidate. Yet -- I hate to stereotype.

So was it one of the video duo? Under deadline. Focusing so hard. So hard. Whoops. There goes another. ...Yes, it was possible, but less likely. The whole "negative peer pressure" thing went against that theory. Or did it? Because precisely that theory incriminates one of them. No one would think he would be so bold, sitting so close to a colleague -- so all the more reason to go for it?

I found a paper and actually fanned myself for a few moments, but to no avail.

Half an hour into this assault, a man walked up to me and tried to get by.

"Is anyone sitting there?" he asked, and pointed to a rare empty seat in the cafe.

"I don't think you want to sit there," I said, not too loudly -- but certainly within earshot of my closest neighbors. "It smells bad. I think someone --" And I glanced their way.

I didn't know how else to put it. And I hoped that would be a hint to the offender that yes, everyone within 15 feet can feel it.

That man, meanwhile, retreated to a different section. At one point he looked at me and shrugged amicably, as in "What canya do? Sucks to be you."

The cafe was full. Except for two seats -- one next to the computer player, and one next to where that man had spread out his stuff.

I rushed over.

"Can I sit here?"

"Of course. I'll just scoot over."

"Phew. Thanks!"

Gained: Oxygen!!!

Dinner?

March 15. Day 258.

My apologies if you ever get a double post to your subscription feed (like for March 14) -- it happens if I hit "Publish" twice. Also, I've heard from two people who tried to leave comments but saw their remarks disappear. Just fyi, I never delete or filter comments on recent posts (though I moderate them on older ones, to avoid spam) -- so if it's missing, it's probably a Blogspot glitch. I am not silencing you!!! Feel free to copy everything into an email to me, just for backup. Thanks.

By the way, if you'd like this blog delivered daily to your reader or inbox, use the link to the right to subscribe! ----> (It's totally free, by the way -- just sends the posts so you don't have to come here!)

***

What I asked for today was not special by any stretch. I invited an acquaintance and his wife to come over for dinner. A routine, humdrum invitation people learn to extend when they're five. "Want to come over after school?" An invitation I've extended a thousand times before, in some shape or form.

But this time it's different, because...

Ever since I moved to San Diego almost a year ago, I've been thrilled to be so close to my family. I've loved finally living in the same city as my beloved after three years of long distance. And I've adored the feeling the sun on my shoulders in February.

But I miss the culture, the chaos and the density of big cities like Boston and Paris. And I miss my social life. When I was in LA yesterday and talking to Cecile, it felt so good -- to have a friend! Someone who recognizes me, who knows my jokes, who greets me with a big hug and trusts me enough to ask for advice. I miss it.

I think it just hit me, hard, yesterday. I miss the talking, questioning, thinking, exploring with a similar or different mind about subjects you both find intriguing. And I miss the fun -- scrolling down on my cell phone and figuring out who to call. Running into people on the street. Or lowering my voice conspiratorially in cafe, Just in case. Who knows who's sitting behind you?

Here, I could shout the deepest blasphemies and no one would recognize me.

Is the anonymity empowering? Exciting? Do I enjoy having a blank slate? Not really.

I shouldn't be sniveling. My closest childhood friend, who you knows Jem, lives a few blocks away and we see each other every chance we get. There are more than a few people in this city I love hanging out with. Mr. A would rather live it up than sleep (which says a lot, given how much he works) -- and that energy is one of the reasons I fell in love with him. I just need to start doing what I haven't done in ages -- pick up the phone, and call (or email) them.

Gained: TBD... company? a pre-proto-friendship? a dinner party in the making? my social life climbing back from the grave?

PS I will now insert a few pictures of sad baby animals, so that you divert your pity (or haughty scorn, if that's your style) from me, onto them.

Behold:

Behold:

Behold: