Some things just can't wait.

I went to a yoga class for the first time ever this evening with my bestie, Brittany. It was the first time for both of us, and we sort of had a random assortment of expectations and were really nervous about the whole endeavor. We saw that our teacher's name was "Sam," and were automatically concerned it might be a guy. Luckily, it was a woman, and she was AWESOME. The session lasted for an hour and 45 minutes, and it was both difficult and relaxing and one of the greatest learning experiences ever. Sam started out with an anecdote about yoga applied to the real world, and the theme of the night included working hard and being passionate, but also being patient when you're working for something you really, really want, and keeping in mind that knowing your own limitations at a particular time is another form of strength. I feel great right now - I'm a little concerned about soreness tomorrow, but I'm really excited that Brittany and I have decided to take classes regularly, once a week, this upcoming year. I think increased flexibility is going to make my running training a million times better, plus it'll just make me feel more balanced and healthy. If I can balance yoga, drum lessons, work and the rest of my life, I think 2011 could shape up to be my best year yet.

I went up past the willow and the well.

On my drive from my apartment in South Austin to the city (i.e. my drive to work every day), I am forced to cross a bridge over Lady Bird Lake. Although my favorite bridge is the Congress bridge, because the view of the city is so spectacular and Oz-like, the bridge I normally take is the Lamar bridge. This morning, as I passed under the stoplight that stands almost like an invisible gate to the bridge, I quickly glanced out over the water, and had to do a double-take. Sitting on top of the water, like delicate wasps of angel hair, was this gentle fog, sitting still on the glassy surface. It was almost like what you see on these especially cold days when you breathe out - like the water was breathing this constant stream of air, and its breath was creating these static vapors that made it all seem like some kind of Narnia. I love Austin.

I know that you're half crazy, but I don't care.

The next six days are going to drive me out of my mind (and thank you for the appropriate song lyrics-title, Miniature Tigers). We are knee-deep in deadlines at my office, and I will likely spend all weekend either here or working from home, looking up the spellings of names, checking facts and essentially ripping apart all of the writings that have been collected for Texas Music's Winter '11 issue, hitting bookstores near you the first week of January. I'm hoping to take a few days off after that, maybe the 23rd through that Christmas weekend; then, it'll be grinding out Horns Illustrated as quickly as possible the following week before we ring in a new year somehow-or-other. I would LOVE to be at the Bright Light Social Hour New Year's bash, but at the same time, I don't want to go if that isn't where the bulk of my friends are.

I haven't ever been great at the whole New Year's thing. Growing up, my family would always watch celebrations on TV and have low-key parties at our house, sometimes with family friends, but more often just with the four of us - my mom, dad, brother and me. I think the first special-event New Year's celebration I ever attended was for the turn of the century. The Wittlif family New Millennium/End of the World celebration was spent in venues around downtown San Antonio, Texas. Even though we lived in the city, we got a hotel room downtown so we could avoid the inevitable TERRIBLE traffic to get out. We got dressed up, and went to the top of a fancy hotel to have a buffet-style dinner. Little known fact about me (unless you are related to me) - I used to be morbidly afraid of elevators. I legitimately thought, every time I got in one, it would break and I would die. So, when I climbed into this metal death trap on this particular day, squeezed in with about 40 other people (well past whatever the capacity of the thing was), I was more than a little nervous. Add to that the fear of it actually being the end of the world (I was a sad, frightened little girl - what can I say), and then have this particular elevator work thusly: instead of taking you to your correct floor, it whisks you just above the floor you want to stop on, by maybe 3 feet, and then DROPS like some twisted carnival ride, so that you free-fall back down to your floor of choice. Now, more adventurous youngsters would probably get a kick out of this. Me? I stuck my nails deep into my clutch handbag as some older, tiny woman screamed from the corner in broken English, "OH MY GOD! WE GOING TO DIE!!!" Kind of set the tone for my entire evening. After dinner, I walked down the 20+ flights of stairs with my mom down onto the street level, and then our troupe headed to a local children's theatre, where tons of awesome music (Prince, Michael Jackson, Sly & the Family Stone, ridiculous 90s boy bands, etc.) blasted out of the house speakers. People were set up in and around the theatre seats, and some braved the stage to get their groove on. I was grumpy from my near-death experience, so I remained in the seats, busting a few moves but mostly waiting for my impending doom when the clock struck midnight. My mother then said, "You realize that it's already midnight at other locations around the world?" I chewed on that for a moment, felt my stomach start to settle, and tried to enjoy the last bits of our New Year's celebration in peace.

My next big New Year's celebration was during my senior year of high school, when my family traveled to some tiny Texas town (I don't remember the name of it) and got super-fancified, and then went and danced to a swing band with a bunch of friendly strangers. It was a blast, and it allowed me to wear one of my favorite dresses I've ever owned - a red, sleek, silky thing from Rampage that I felt I should be buried in one day. (Failed to find a photo of it on the interwebs - I'll upload one later.) It was fun to be swept off my feet by talented strangers, and a little nerve-wracking to get the same questions over and over again: "Do you know where you're going to college yet? Know what you want to major in? What are you going to do with your life?" Sheesh, people, I had enough trouble with my resolutions!

The next two New Years were spent at a lovely little jazz club in downtown San Antonio - the famous Jim Cullum's Landing. The music was fun and the whole affair felt very grown up, but I was doing it for someone other than myself, which is really the exact opposite of what I should have been doing ushering in new eras those first two years in college. The next real celebration I had was one of the best ones I can remember - it started out with a brand new group of friends at a house party, and ended downtown in the cold, as a sad little ball dropped from the roof of an Austin bar while a shitty local DJ said sexist things. It was awesome. I feel like 2009 was the dawn of something really new and wonderful for me, and standing in painful heels on 6th street while people made out, passed out and puked around me was seriously the best. I don't care how crazy it sounds. I think my resolutions for 2009 were to try to meet more people, and to really and truly learn to love myself, and those were the healthiest resolutions I'd ever made.

Last year, I'm almost 100% sure I was super sick on New Year's, getting over some terrible fever, feeling like Death's bride. I say almost 100% sure, because I really don't remember what I did on New Year's. And this is not the hilarious "Oh, she must have had TOO much fun!" kind of not remembering - this is, whatever I did was so forgettable...I've forgotten it. If you're reading this, and you are a friend of mine, and you spent New Year's with me last year, first of all I apologize for being so forgetful, and secondly PLEASE remind me where the devil I was for New Year's Eve/Day!!

Generally, the winter holidays are some of my favorite. Even though my New Years have never been truly epic enough to really write home about, there's something about the cold weather, the fresh smells, the sense of family and friendship and the magic of the whole thing that gets me. Sadly, this year, particularly because somebody clearly failed to let Austin know it's winter now, I've sort of been lost in work and won't even get to use the decorations I collected the last few years to make my apartment festive. I'm hoping, though, that that just forces me to appreciate my holidays all the more. I'm not sure what my resolutions are yet for this upcoming year, but I'll share them when I parse them out. For now, I'm just excited at the possibility that will come as soon as I slog through these next six days.

Musics and musics.

I really enjoyed these artists' take on some of the best music of the year, so I'm saving the link here in order to remind myself to check out some of this stuff I'm unfamiliar with.

That said - am I the only one in the world bored to tears by Beach House? Even Legrand's "Best of" made me want to punch myself in the face. Be more pretentious, please. Maybe I should give Teen Dream a chance, seeing as it topped so many of these people's lists, but I get a distinct sense that it is super overrated.

She had one little promise she was gonna keep.

We're back in my noggin today, except my imagination went to a more fun, child-like place this time around.

I'm obsessed with music. If you were meeting me for the first time, this is something you'd discover within the first five minutes, at most. I'll go into detail another time about why this is; suffice it to say, it is my deepest passion and I love it. As I'm sure is the case for most people, certain songs really get my imaginative juices flowing. Just now, at my office, Tom Petty's "American Girl" popped on the radio. Although I have a vendetta against Petty (Muse ACL 2006! Never forget!!!), I will always love this song. This is one of those songs that makes me want to be the person the musician is singing about. Even though the protagonist is kind of static and passive in the second verse, there's something in the first verse that implies pulling the wool from your eyes, gaining self-empowerment, and kicking some ass. It's a song that makes me envision myself strutting down a busy sidewalk somewhere, head held high, ready for anything. The Black Keys do this for me too, in a different way - with them, it's much more about swagger for the benefit of others. With "American Girl," it's about confidence for yourself.

Even though this is a pretty immature interpretation of what I just said (it focuses 100% on Elliot's looks and implies that "girly" things hold you back from speaking your mind - not good), I can't help but want to be Elliot in this Scrubs clip; I think it's because I see it as a metaphorical transformation. The outward change is reflecting inner courage she's digging deep to claim. (Did I mention I was a Radio/TV/Film Media Studies major in college?)

Love of mine, someday you will die/But I'll be close behind - I'll follow you into the dark.

I was walking along the sidewalk in my neighborhood, heading to my little community gym, listening to Arcade Fire (Neon Bible) and letting my mind wander in the cold, darkening evening, and a thought that's appeared in my mind from time to time dropped in. It's a bit morbid, perhaps, but I thought I'd share it because I think it's interesting.

I have a very (VERY) vivid imagination. It's wonderful, although it can also be a bit of a burden. But in this instance, I just think it's fascinating. I've always wondered - what if there are multiple versions of our selves, and the paths we're moving forward on just fork off at different places? I know this isn't original (see Wikipedia), but I like my particular interpretation. So the reason this popped into my head as I was walking along the sidewalk was because, as cars passed quickly by me on the street, I envisioned one of them losing control and crashing into me, or me missing a step and falling into the road and, subsequently, their path of destruction. Now, I know this sounds scary/creepy/depressing, but hear me out. I envision that there are other universes in which I have ended my journey, multiple times over. I can even see myself each time, like a ghost, when I befall these tragedies, and I'm sad for that part, but it's almost like in the Dark Crystal, with the Skeksis - it's like those ghost versions of me revitalize the me that gets to live. So hopefully, a non-evil version of the Skeksis?

It's a strange thing to imagine. I think it ultimately has to do with how little control I (and any of us) really have over things like that; it's a way for me to feel like I have some kind of control over it all.

In the event that this has creeped you out, I'll leave you with this punny wish, courtesy BestWeekEver:

Money, money, money, money - moooooney.

Money. It's a thing that, as a non-full-time employee and person whose skill set includes writing, editing, creating and other fluffy intangibles, I don't see much of. Particularly since I took an October trip to visit the lovely Big Apple, I have been living from paycheck to paycheck down to the last dime.

Thus, I am taking a 10-day break from spending. I have to go buy groceries tonight so that I can eat (I am out of everything), fill my gas tank in my car (I'm down to a quarter), buy a $10-or-less hideous sweater for a sweater party on Saturday, and I will be purchasing fresh cupcakes on Thursday to take to a celebratory "Woo you were an awesome intern!" party we're throwing for ours who just graduated. I'll have to explain the cupcakes another time, but for now I will merely mention that this is a tradition, from me to the interns that come through our office. That's it. That's the allowance. Beyond that, no ma'am until Dec. 15, when I get paid and sit down to figure out a budget that will allow me to pay off a credit card, hopefully get a haircut and NOT get kicked out of my apartment complex. That means if a random show that I HAVE to attend pops up, I gotta wait to buy a ticket. I can't eat out for 10 days. I can't buy records or booze or whatever, just no. Can't do it.

Typing this out, the reality sinks in and I realize that this is going to suck a little. BUT. But. I can do it. And it will be good. And I will be much, much more comfortable and hopefully be able to get back to a better place about spending/budgeting.

I already know what my first purchase will be on the 15th, too (apart from paying all of my student loan bills, which - ick): a ticket to the Black and White Years show at Antone's that night. I will dance like a person free from capitalism, whatever that sort of person would dance like.

Writing 101 - Tip #1

Note to self: try to hold off on the big, bellowing, super-awkward laughter when you interview bands, because when you are transcribing and do a slowed-down playback, you will want to poke your eyes out and shove them deep into your ears to block the sound and end your deep-seated embarrassment/shame.

You got your bullfighter jacket on.

It was only a matter of time before I started a new personal blog. I've had a hankering for creative, personal writing for a while now, so I'm glad to have a new outlet. I feel some poetry, some short stories, random ramblings and thoughts all needing to get out, so I'll collect 'em here.

Today's post is gonna be super mushy - sorry! If you don't like it, leave now. This is your warning.

Things I love about Zack T. -

• His accent. He's from Chicago, and certain words come out in that excellent Chicagoan way. It's adorable.
• His way with words. Nobody has ever really wooed me before, but this kid knows how to express himself. I'm so glad to have met a writer.
• His laugh. It's this super-giggly infectious thing, and when he gets going, there's no stopping him.
• His kindness. He's got the biggest heart, where he stores his passion for music, his adoration and love for his friends, his sacred memories of his family, his patience and his understanding.
• His childlike nature. I think this is why he is so great at "mannying;" kids get him and want to be with him.
• His blue eyes - reminds me of that pop song my mom used to sing to my brother. "You've got the most unbelievable blue eyes I've ever seen."
• His sense of adventure. He seems so very alive, and it rubs off on me.

There's so much more, but I think this is a nice starter list.