Coincidences

coincidence = "a striking occurrence of two or more events at one time apparently by mere chance"

Alright, since the world so desparately wants me to comment on coincidences, I will.

Coincidence: yes or no? This is the question that I have for myself. What does it mean, for example, when I'm reading "Romeo and Juliet" for class and Radiohead's "Talk Show Host" comes on Pandora?

For those of you who, for some reason or other, have never seen the movie, this is to what I am referring: the 1996 movie directed by Baz Luhrmann ("Australia", "Moulin Rouge", "Strictly Ballroom") starring Claire Danes and Leonardo DiCaprio.

Here, let me make the connections for you. Let's connect the dots, shall we? In 9th grade, I saw a commercial for the movie "Romeo and Juliet" on Channel One News just before my lunch break at Churchill Junior High. I was immediately turned off by what I saw and debated ever seeing the movie because I didn't like the idea of modernized Shakespeare. I was concerned that the movie would destroy what, for the most part, is a great play and a true classic. But I did watch the movie eventually. And I did enjoy it. And then I enjoyed it some more. And then I obsessed over it. Bought both soundtracks (it came in two volumes). Printed out pictures of Claire and Leo. Taped them to my binders. Watched the movie repeatedly. And listened to the soundtrack over and over again.

Which is where Radiohead comes in. "Talk Show Host." Come on, girls, you all know the scene that I'm talking about. Romeo is being a sad, mopey bastard out on the beach. There's a great shot of some sort of theater front that's standing in ruins on the beach (one of my favorite shots).

"Good morrow, cousin."

"Is the day so young?"

Yes, we get the idea. Anyway, my point. This song, along with a couple other songs on that soundtrack (Garbage's "#1 Crush" and The Cardigan's "Lovefool") were the songs that kicked off my journey through the music world. From "Talk Show Host," I explored first "The Bends," then "Pablo Honey," then "Amnesiac" (all Radiohead albums, if ya didn't know). I could tell you about the first time I listened to "Amnesiac" the memory remains so vivid in my mind, but that would be to recall people I wish to repress from my memory. So, I will leave that story unsaid.

Garbage is another story. Starting with "Version 2.0," I then moved on to their first self-titled album ("Version 2.0" was their second release) and then on to "Beautiful Garbage." Oh, just thinking of that last album mentioned puts a smile on my face because it was that album (not, unfortunately, David Bowie) that introduced me to the idea of androgyny (I could go on about the benefits of ambiguous sexuality, but I will leave that for another post). Suddenly, I wanted to look like Shirley Manson, wear dark, red lipstick all the time, and cut my hair short and bleach it (all of which I did eventually do). Anyway, if we follow this thread a bit further, we discover Butch Vig, a member and "brainchild" of Garbage and producer for The Smashing Pumpkins. Some of you may already know where I'm going with this...

Eric's favorite band at about that time was: The Smashing Pumpkins.

Now, it could be that I'm voluntarily making all of these connections that are merely coincidental. Meaning, they appear to have some order, some explanation, but it is all merely by chance. Considering that I don't have some long, elaborate story to tell about The Cardigans, this reasoning appears to be correct.

Still, though, the coincidences have just been adding up lately, that it is starting to freak me out a bit (uncannily so).

Eve Sedgwick's book "Between Men" for example. I bought the book last semester for a paper I was writing in my Victorian literature class. Looked interesting. Didn't want to check it out from the library. So, I bought it. Thinking I would read it sometime in the near future. I can't tell you how many times I have now encountered that book in my Film Genres class this semester. All I read about in my readings for class is Eve Sedgwick this, Eve Sedgwick that. WHAT IS THE DEAL??? OK, I'LL READ THE DAMN BOOK ALREADY!!!

Another example: Sigmund Freud's Civilization and its Discontents. You want to understand why it is that at the end of a really long work day you don't want to have sex, this book will illuminate it for you. Let's just put it simply though for anyone who's not going to read the book: IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO DAMN TIRED!!!

Okay, that's sarcasm taken a bit too far. I'm aware that I may have hurt someone's feelings (aka Eric), but he knows me better than to take that seriously. But, really. The explanation may be as simple as that. 'Course Freud has to add that extra sexual perversion to all of it (something about castration complexes and oral fixations), but he really does have some good theories.

Anyway, I'm straying again. Point: this particular piece of literature has been popping up everywhere for me. School and life. Hell, I could probably even draw some connection between it, "Romeo and Juliet," and Radiohead if I really wanted to.

I thought to myself recently that I was going to make a list of all the weird coincidences happening in my life lately. As I cannot think of any at present (or at least none that I want to share with any of you!), this list will just have to come later. At a time when I'm more inclined to reveal all of the craziness that goes on inside my head. Though that's not to say that none of you haven't witnessed it yet. But, here, let me confess this right now because I know it to be true:

I AM CRAZY.

I can hardly manage myself, I wonder how anyone else is able to do it... Eric.

I'll leave you with this one last parting thought on coincidences (I haven't even addressed the question at hand: yes or no?) from Wikipedia:

"A coincidence does not prove a relationship, but related events may be expected to have a higher index of coincidence. Probability is the basic tool, or method, to rationally evaluate coincidences. In the field of mathematics, the index of coincidence can be used to analyze whether two events are related. From a statistical perspective, coincidences are inevitable and often less remarkable than they may appear intuitively. An example is the birthday problem, where the probability of two individuals sharing a birthday already exceeds 50% with a group of only 23."

Since science and I be at war, I find this assessment of coincidence to be highly dissatisfactory.

Conclusion: I'm afraid I'm going to have to take this question to my superior.

Um?

...

Huh.

Life of the Fittest

My time at the University of Utah is very quickly wrapping up. After having started work on a Psychology degree about two years ago, I will walk in May and get my English degree instead. It wasn't what I had planned on doing, but plans are always changing. And I will always remember that first, decisive semester at the U, when I took my first English class. I have had friends in the past who were English majors, and I always envied them their knowledge about literature although they envied me my scientific and mathematical prowess. Skills I suppose I should be proud of. Skills I've never really had to work all that hard for. But skills that have always differentiated me, in one or another, from the others.

About five years ago, I graduated for the first time from the University of Utah, obtaining a Bachelor's of Science degree in Meteorology, and from that day hence, Meteorology and I have gone our separate ways. I tried, halfheartedly, to pursue a career in Meteorology, keeping in the back of my mind the thought that what was most important for me was that I find a good, stable job that would simply pay the bills and provide for a relatively comfortable lifestyle. But when you try at something halfheartedly, sometimes your efforts will be fruitless, and you will instead find yourself doing something you had never planned on doing. You might even find yourself doing this very something else for three, four, five, five and a half years, the time very quickly adding up against you, reminding you that, for every second that passes, you lose all the job skills you supposedly acquired while you were attending school and that what once used to be an option has slowly but surely turned into a fantasy (whether you desire it or not).

Five and a half years, I've been working at the same job, and four and a half years at the other. I lost a lot of time during that time just playing solitaire at work and watching movies. I lost a lot of time just sitting on my ass, staring out the window, trying to figure out what I should do with my life (a question that has never ceased to plague me). At six years though - six and five for the both jobs - I will graduate once more, though my degree may be less practical than the first time around. And though I will not graduate with distinction like I did in high school, I will graduate with accomplishment.

The first time I attended the University of Utah, I went there on a full-tuition scholarship, I had received a $3000 stipend (through another scholarship program), and I had even had all my books paid for by my mom's office. I had it EASY. But easy is not always a good thing. My grades slipped over the years as I began to think myself capable of just coasting the whole way through, as I began to try other things (insert a variety of bad choices here), as I fretted over relationship after relationship (the "boys = bad" mentality never really worked on me, though I wish I had been less naive in retrospect). And then I lost my scholarships. One. By. One. Until all I had left was simply my determination to complete my degree and get the hell out of there.

Mission accomplished.

But along with that accomplishment came a new commitment, the commitment called marriage. And shortly after that came the commitment of parenthood. Both of which I will never claim to be a bad decision for whatever reason and both of which I can never tell someone there is a right and a wrong time for. They're simply commitments that you're either ready for or you're not and that you'll, ultimately, stand up to the responsibilities of... or not if you're someone like my piece-of-shit father which is another story in-and-of itself. Let's just say this: if you're someone like me, that is, if you're someone stubborn beyond all belief, you'll find a way, whatever the circumstances, to make it work. End of story.

And that is just what we have done. We have found a way, this way or that, to make this life work. But there comes a time, as there must for everyone who desires not just surviving in life but also progressing, when just working is, quite simply, not enough. People will tell you that when they get sick, e.g. when they get diagnosed with cancer, they  can feel the sickness within them before the doctor even diagnoses it. And if they've been cured, they can tell you too, based solely on their experiences of themselves, that the sickness has passed. This, I feel, compares well to the sickness I experience of just surviving, which seems, at the same time, to contradict the very idea of survival. Survival = life, right? No, no I don't think so.

Survival does not guarantee life, and therefore, survival does not equal life. In fact, it seems to me that survival is contrary to the very idea of life, at least as I understand it (insert theory of evolution here and its ensuing debate). There is nothing natural, to me, about surviving. And there is nothing about surviving that seems to guarantee progression. Either of the human species as a whole or individually. And which is what I'm most interested in for myself and my family. Say what you want about the evolution of the species. Say what you want about faith even in contradiction to the science of it. I DON'T BUY ANY OF IT. I believe that the human species has evolved and adapted over time, that we have become smarter and more capable of greater and greater things. I believe that adaptation is a necessary skill in this increasingly complex world. But I don't believe that mere survival is any way of living. For myself or for my family.

My better judgments of myself inform me that I am a perfectly capable individual, that I can accomplish a great many things in my life. My better judgments of myself even, at times, inform me that I can and will persevere against the greater odds against me. I was a birth-control baby with an abusive father and whose grandfather had attempted, at one time, to persuade my mother to give me up for adoption. My mom endured many complications with me while she was pregnant, almost losing me from going into early labor, and almost losing me to the persuasiveness of the difficulties of youth and responsibility. This alone informs me that I will survive. And this, I know, to be a certainty.

But mere survival is not enough for me. And the very idea of it dams up within me, like a sickness cutting off the blood circulation within my body. I feel a tumor of it invade my senses, and I repulse at the thought of it claiming my very life.

At various benchmarks in my life, I have made plans to do this thing or that, always thinking ahead to better times when I can pursue those things of interest to me. I have conjured up dreams of such vivid detail that I begin to think they're real and that the possibility of attaining them becomes a certainty. But my dreams, at the same time, are constantly undergoing re-envisioning as I encounter obstacle after obstacle that forces me to adapt.  And, in this way, the dream very quickly transforms again into the fantasy.

I am tired of the fantasy.

I tell myself as I make various changes in my life that once I accomplish this task, I can move on to the next, that one step forward eases the next. But it seems to me that, over the course of my life, I have lost my footing, and I no longer know which way is up and which way is down, which way is forward and which way is back. One dream takes the place of another, and I do not realize that in order to accomplish each of them, I have to rethink my thinking. Rethink my thinking? It's like trying to rethink an action so natural as walking or blinking. And how in the hell do you rethink a dream? How do you rethink an unconscious reaction to your life at present?

I hear in my mind at all times the voices of people around me. These people may be real, or they may be fantasy. But they tell me that anything is possible and that I simply must seize the day (Carpe diem!) while I stare at them in blank consternation. Such seeming well-meaning, more often than not, only accomplishes bitter skepticism. If it is so easy to simply go out there and make your dreams happen, I want to ask, why have so many people been unable to accomplish them? A debate ensues within my head. But there are exceptions every day, I hear someone say. Yes, I respond, but do you not see that, ofttimes, their success is at the expense of the whole? The debate goes on and on, eventually coming to a standstill. And I give it up for the time being.

Where is this going, I now ask myself. What are these thoughts that I am having? I write these things now because I have had to rethink some things over over the past couple of days, things that have lain dormant in the back of my head as I've made plans for other things. Freud would inform me that my experience of late is an experience of the uncanny, that it is the experience of things repressed finally coming to the surface thus giving me the impression that there is some other supernatural (NOT godly) force at work here. It is odd, yes, the world seeming to force me to make a decision that I was already thinking about making. It is odd, yes, when life seems  to say to me everything that I have been saying.

As my time at the U is very quickly coming to an end, options stretch out before me. As my life becomes informed by this thing or that, new doors open in front of me. My dream remains the same, but my path changes. And I seem, once again, to know where I am going. And I can tell you this: I am not going in the direction of just surviving.

Awenydd: "The Piano in the Bathtub" by Department of Eagles

I.just.love.this.song.

Reflection

Eric and I have been watching old videos on Vimeo and YouTube (Christine's Vimeo, Eric's Vimeo, Christine's YouTube, Eric's YouTube) tonight. Eric's been hanging out with me at work since I have to work until 7 tomorrow morning. It's been really interesting to go backwards in time to see how far we've come since we started out. To see how our methods have changed, how the quality of the things we make has changed, how our perspective has even changed. To see how each of us has our own signature techniques and yet to see at the same time how each works so perfectly well together. We can be ourselves and still be a couple. We can do things separate and still do things together.

It all started a little more than five years ago when Eric and I met at a local coffee shop, each of us not really knowing what we were going to do with our lives. Eric wandered into the coffee shop I frequented regularly simply by chance. And then he sat down at a table at Greenhouse with myself and my friends. He didn't say much. I didn't say much. We were both kinda just caught up in our own worlds. But Eric would come again, would join my group of friends for more nights of lounging about, waiting for something to do. Eric and I would get to know each other over time, would learn each other's sad sad stories which were very soon followed by much happier times (though there would still be trying times as there always are). And then one day, Eric would finally decipher my blatant hints and meet me at my office. From that moment on, we have never been apart for longer than a couple of days.

The pictures are out of order on our Flickr account, and Eric has now deleted his old one. It's October 6th, 2005, and we visit friends (oddly, who are now divorced):

It's the day before our wedding, and we go to Greenhouse once more to relax before the big day. We didn't spend that night with each other. Eric spent the night at our apartment in the Avenues, and I stayed at my mom's.

It's the month I will graduate from the U of U for the first time, and Eric and I are doing laundry at our first apartment in Murray which I had moved into with my sister when I returned from my internship in Alaska.

It's the day after Christmas the first year that we are together. Eric had taken me to meet his family Christmas Eve, and I hope that my blue hair hasn't freaked anyone out.

Then, suddenly, we're married, and we have a little girl. A beautiful little girl who we were not altogether prepared for, but who we are very happy to have in our life.

We take a trip to Washington the next Spring, and I make my first video on my old Dell laptop that I had bought from a friend.

More times ensue, and next thing you know, we've done so many things over the past several years that it's really quite crazy how far we've come. Music, art, photos, videos, anything you can imagine. We've probably tried our hands at it at least one time or another. Even podcasting. Blogging. Everything.

The Discobeats Trilogy

Long tracks, each with an over arching story and many parts. Meant to be listened to on long drives. The name "Discobeats" being a play on "Disc o' beats" and not having anything to do with Disco.

[audio:http://freedownloads.last.fm/download/263631440/Discobeats.mp3]
01- Discobeats

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[audio:http://freedownloads.last.fm/download/263631441/Discobeats%2B2.mp3]
02- Discobeats 2

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[audio:http://freedownloads.last.fm/download/241998268/Discobeats%2B3%2BPart%2B1.mp3]
03- Discobeats 3 Part 1

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[audio:http://freedownloads.last.fm/download/241963934/Discobeats%2B3%2BPart%2B2.mp3]
04- Discobeats 3 Part 2

Snyder Vector by ~mistyvesper on deviantART



WEB THREE by ~snyder on deviantART

And here we are now, with our lives still not quite figured out. But we're working on it. And we're getting there. Slowly but surely.

Christmas with The Mahlers from Christine Mahler on Vimeo.

There's a lot of our stuff out there. If you're ever interested, you can find us almost anywhere.

(We have over 5,000 photos on Flickr. The oldest can be found here and the newest can be found here. The easiest way though is to browse through the sets found here)

Victory

Three o'clock, and I'm sitting at Sugarhouse Coffee after just having finished one of my finals. The last three or so weeks have been crazy what with papers due and finals to prepare for, and I've hardly had time to do much of anything, let alone plan for Christmas. We did however put up our Christmas tree just a few days after Thanksgiving. We normally put it up the day after, but this year we both had to work and were thus unable to do so. Combined with the change in living circumstances, we've had to make a number of alterations to our shaping family traditions. But we're pretty flexible as far as all that stuff goes, so it's really no big deal.

I sit here typing this post while everyone else around me appears to be cramming for their own exams. I think it's interesting that everyone should wait until the end of the semester to utilize a local coffee shop for preparatory purposes. I've been here a number of times already this semester, usually reading some assignment for class or even just taking a break before I go into work. There was very rarely anyone else here, but now nearly every seat is filled. I just want to go around and ask, "What the hell have you been doing all semester?" Because I was here working my ass off all along, and still, that might not even be enough to get by this semester

But getting by is not enough for me. I WILL get by. I WILL pass my courses. I know this because I have put the work into it. What I struggle with is the idea that I might not get as good of grades this semester. As if it wasn't enough that I'm already working two jobs on top of full-time school status and having a family. What more could I possibly ask myself, I constantly ponder. Isn't it enough? All of this? And, even if you should struggle, it should be expected, right? It should be expected that things can't be perfect...

It's been a rough semester this semester. I'm taking all upper division courses that require a lot more work than any of the classes I've taken in the last two years (it really has been two years since I started again). I don't know how many books I've read, how many thousands of pages it's been since the beginning of the semester. I remember my papers, although I wish that I didn't. And I remember all the time that I've spent away from home, away from my own family. Wandering around on campus, listening to my music. Driving around between classes to fill up the time. Always, always feeling as if the semester could never come to an end, and even if it should, I would surely not make it.

Yes, those are the thoughts that I've had this semester. That this semester might just be the death of me. And yet, somewhere in the back of my head, there persists the thought that no, I'll make it through the semester just fine without any significant bruising. And now I'm practically there. I can still feel a pulse in this now delicate frame of a body. Depression takes its toll in the form of pounds. Pounds and pounds of happiness. You shed your happiness as you become depressed until there's little evidence of anything else. Although, it's also nice because you've lost all that weight you've been saying you wanted to.

Emaciation. I look at my face in my pictures, and this is what I see. I see the toll the semester has taken on me. I see the struggle I have put up with, and I ask myself, again and again, was it worth it? I have to ask myself this question in order to be able to justify any of it. Is an English degree worth it? And what in the hell are you going to do once you accomplish it? The only answer I have though is one of a feeling of affirmation which may only prove itself in time. As the months pass quickly by and Colette gets bigger and bigger. Time will only tell if abandoning what is, by all means, the practical path in life for the less practical.

My boss did ask me this question this semester: is that practical? Is what practical? Is anything practical? Is living practical? Is that a judgment? Do you mean to belittle me?

Frustration mounts with the world, with circumstances that are beyond my control. And I have to watch as everyone around me watches me cave under the pressure. There's no way to express my comprehension of the situation. There is only the feeling of being caught up in it. And then afterward, when once more I've regained my sanity, I perceive this other reflection of myself. And I see myself as something I never wanted to be.

It's amazing how all of this pours out of me once I begin to sense a light at the end of the tunnel, once I begin to feel again that I can breathe. Yet I understand this not as a kind of release. I've been releasing my frustration on the world all semester. Instead, I think of this merely as a kind of communication. I see what you see. You see what I see. We are of an understanding now, and I can once more progress down this ridiculous path I've designed for myself. It's my way of saying, "You see? I'm okay. No need to worry about me." And I say that both to you and to me.

There are some things to look forward to in the next three weeks. There is, of course, Christmas. I look forward to spending Christmas Eve with my family, curling up in our bed together with the smell of the tree permeating the room, with perhaps a Christmas movie playing on the TV. I look forward to Christmas morning when Eric and I wake Colette (these are still the years that we can do that) to open her Christmas presents, eager parents waiting to observe the expressions of delight on their sweet daughter's face as she tears through her presents. I look forward to the times we spend with each of our families, to the sitting around the Christmas tree feeling nothing but contentment. I look forward even to the drives in the snow should we have to take them.

I look forward as well to the long drive we will take to Washington the first week of January. It is a drive that could not come soon enough. I want to see the landscape in movement again. I want to notice a change of scenery. I want to sit in the same car for hours on end with my family. With my husband and my daughter. Singing and laughing. I imagine a smile on my face as we drive along and can already almost feel the edges of my mouth turning up at the thought of it. I long for the time that I can wholeheartedly say again, "I am happy."

Inside joke

Oh No! Don't Go Dodo O' robo So-Jo homo Hobo let it snow!

Nevermind.

Right Now

I have quite, uncontrolably, left the world tonight. Out of some strange impulse, I hunted down this one particular track by Olafur Arnalds that I can never get enough of. A very simple, melodic piano piece with a climax in the second act of a three act song. Build and build and build. Feel its tugging and pulling. Tug. Pull. Tug. Pull. Until you get to it. You get to the part you knew you were coming to all along. The full release, if you will. The give in. Okay, this part says. Okay, it's time for us to really experience this song. And then you come to the final refrain. Feeling not quite satisfied. Feeling a bit disappointed because you know the song is about to end. And you wish that the full emotion of the song would just carry through to the end. But it doesn't. So, you play the track again, knowing that you will have to go through the anticipation again until you come to the part of the song that you really want to hear. Extend it. Extend it, please, you say to yourself. Just make it last longer this time, and then the song reposes again. It's an ongoing cycle. Never to end until you finally move on to something else. But it's been over an hour now, during which you have done absolutely nothing but stare at the computer, thinking back on this or that, picking away at the broken pieces of your life, knowing all the while that the more you pick, the worse they will get. Pick. Pick. Pick. And play the song one more time, please.

I seem to get immense satisfaction out of listening to similar songs lately, all songs implying a cyclical mode of life of which I can never free myself. I become increasingly frustrated, think to myself, this time, this time I will get out of this cycle. This time, I will find some escape. And then everything will change. But, no. I am playing the song again. Because I like it. Because it's a great song. Because it expresses more than just a repetitive sequence. Because there are high moments and there are low. Because somewhere in it all is the answer. Somewhere in it all is the place I want to be. Somewhere in the middle. Somewhere between the beginning and the end. But I have to experience the anticipation and the dissatisfaction of each in order to truly appreciate the fullest of moments. And even in experiencing the best part of the song, I have to accept that it is not lasting. That there will be a moment, sooner than I want it to come, when the song will again return to its despondent tugging and pulling. One minute up. Yes, yes I've got it this time. One minute down. No, never mind. That was not it. Wait. Wait. I think it's coming now. I think we're on to something. Yes. Yes. Yes. This is it. This is it. This is it. Oh, this is so wonderful. Wow. I simply can't believe it. I've never experienced anything like this before. Wait. No, no. We're losing it. It's leaving now. No, maybe not. Yes, yes it is. No, come back. Please come back. I was happy. Yes, I was happy. Give me the satisfaction again. And then I return to the page from which the song comes and click play once more.

There is nothing better than this struggle right now. There is nothing else. There is not even this empty office. Life outside this office. It is just me and this sad, sad song that I cannot pull myself away from. I think I hear voices every so often and wonder what it could possibly be that is producing that sound. I think, okay, I should get up and do my picture for the night now, but no, no I don't want to. I think I should really do my reading assignment. No, no. Don't want to. So many thoughts rushing through my head. Can't stop them. And yet, I'm completely at peace with my sadness. With my frustration. We've reached a compromise tonight. We know we will be at war again. But for now, we are settled. And until next time, we can appreciate the harmony of our voices. Happy. Sad. Content. Frustrated. This is it, isn't it? This is our compounded state realized for one fleeting moment in the middle of a song. A song found by accident. A song you simply must play one more time. Just one more time, you tell yourself, though you know you will play it again and again and again until you are forced to stop. Because there is nothing to stop you in this moment. There is nothing to stop you from going where you will go, from feeling what you will feel, from thinking what you think. There is no one telling you that any of this is silly. That you are crazy. Because there are some moments when you really think you are. Some moments when you think you should really restrain yourself. But that is just what the beginning and the ending of this song do. They bound the middle. They bound the best part. They isolate it. They restrict it. They suffocate it. But still it bursts forth. And it will always be there. If you'll just play the song again. Play it once more, and you will find it again. And that, that is your moment. That is when you may, by the song's cue, let all your insanity break loose. Follow the beats. Follow the path the notes of the song will you along. Until you find yourself getting back to where you started. All the world is the same. But, somehow, all the world is different. And I know not the beginning from the end anymore. I know only that somewhere in there is this most amazing, most expressive, most comprehensive representation of all that you feel. Right Now. Right now. right now. right. now.

"Dance Me to the End of Love" by Christine and Eric

Uploaded another video for Adam and Erica's wedding! Woohoo! And posting it EVERYWHERE!! :)

"Dance Me to the End of Love" from Christine Mahler on Vimeo.

Episode 008: My Butt Hurts

To much birthday cake will always come back to bite you in the ass.

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Episode 007: Saliva

Episode 7, whoo! We discuss movies, and other junk.

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Ce Semestre

About a month and a half into this semester, and classes are no less exhaustive than thrice before since I started up again. What makes this semester different though is living in Farmington and consequently having to spend the vast majority of my day away from home. The first three semesters, when we lived just down the street from the U, I was able to stop in, hang out, maybe even get in a nap before going into work. But, this semester, ce semestre, je n'ai pas beaucoup de temps de visiter ma famille, and I often, souvent, go into work early and work on my homework, which can, yes, be a good thing but which also, ultimately, wears me down to the point de presque quitter.

Le semestre started off strong, mais j'etais fatiguee rapidement parce que school and work are the only things I've been doing since I started classes again. J'espere que I could work less and be at home more avec ma fille et mon marie, mais je comprend que je dois de finir mes etudes avant je peut pursue other options. C'est difficile pour moi d'etre away so much, mais je sais que Eric et Colette understand pourquoi I have to be away so much. Apres je finira my degree, j'espere que toutes les choses will be better. Peut-etre nous pourrons acheter une maison. Peut-etre non. Mais, je crois que notre vie soit meilleure que maintenant.

Je ne regrette pas du tout though moving to Farmington. It has been a really great thing pour all of us despite its being so far from Salt Lake. Quelle bonne chance pour nous! To be able to live rent-free for a little while until we can save up some money to be able to buy a house of our own. It has vraiment been very helpful for us, and je ne pense que I could thank Heinz and Nancy enough for the opportunity they have given us.

Pour maintenant, je continue d'etudier et travailler. Un jour, un jour, un jour. One day, peut-etre.

Episode 006: 30% Chance

30% Chance of what? Shhh.. I can't say or the Agents may hear and start kicking some ass.... Nevermind.

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Episode 005: Assume the Position

Don't be too freaked out by the beginning. We are such kidders *nervous haha*.

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or call the Voicemail Line(1-206-888-4575) and leave us a message to play on the show!

Sunday Drive Podcast, Episode 004: We Apologize for the Singing

I had to try to upload this one 5 times before it worked(i hope). Not sure why it was so troublesome but let me know if it's not working. Heres hoping.
Episode 004, on the menu and ready to serve.

What's that sloshing sound? And where's Doug?

Should I take 2? Hmm... The bottle says 2. It's only Ibuprofen. 3 couldn't kill me or anything. Let's see, 200 milligrams. Is that per pill? 3 would be 600. Don't they make 500 milligram ones? What's 100 more right? I should probably not push my luck. This headache is pretty bad, but I don't want to do something stupid.

Fuck it, I'll take 3.

...

No, make it 2.

Perhaps I'm just dehydrated and should drink some water. I heard someplace somewhere that drinking too much water can kill you. That somehow sounds wrong. They say you should have 8 glasses a day right? How much do you need to drink for it to kill you? Who found that out anyway? Person must have been thirsty as hell. Sloshing around as they walked. Hehe, that's a funny image. Well, until they fall down and die on the floor. Pissing themselves. You know, 'cause of the water.