I've been neglecting this blog for quite some time. Perhaps I've been waiting for some inspiration to write something fantastic and witty and insightful all at the same time. Or, possibly it's because I've been lazy and tired and maybe a little overworked. Regardless, I am neglectful no longer, or at least for another few weeks if I so happen to ignore it again.
I don't really have anything fantastic or witty or insightful to write about. But, I could share the story of the name of this blog, since it probably makes very little sense to anyone who stumbles upon it. A name like "Potpourri" might be better, or "Random Tidbits That Pop Into My Head." "The Orbit" makes it seem kind of space-themed, a topic I actually know very little about, except what I've retained from the days of Planetariums in my elementary school gymnasium, and random little facts that people pass along to me. In my head, I still like to think of Pluto as a planet, because I really like the mnemonic about our solar system: "My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pies." What do teach kids nowadays, "My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nachos"? "Nothing"? "Nutterbutters"? It's not the same.
Don't get me wrong, I think space is cool. I think there is life on other planets. I don't think aliens should be green with big eyes though. I hope they're small and fluffy, like kittens or squirrels, and I hope they don't threaten to destroy other countries with nuclear weapons like we do here.
The name "The Orbit" is actually a little more lame than outer space; I'll be the first to admit it. Almost four years ago, I had just started optometry school and thought a blog would be a good way to record the process and take a break from studying every once in a while. But then, I sort of forgot about it (or neglected it, take your pick), and made only a draft or two before giving up. Fast-forward 3.5 years later to the second half of my final year in optometry school, and I decide to blog again, though not about optometry this time. I decide to write just to write, because it's something I don't get to do much, at least with much creativity (there isn't much creativity involved in medical charting, and there really shouldn't be, though I do strive to make my exam charts grammatically correct, and throw in a semicolon -- my favorite type of punctuation -- whenever I can). It was easier to start up a blog that already existed, and I simply did not change the title, more for sentimental reasons than anything else I suppose. The orbit is the name for the bony structure around the eye. Cool, right? Eye certainly think so. :)
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Thank you!
Yesterday I made vegan sloppy joes, called "snobby joes," since apparently the fact that they contain no meat or animal products makes them think they're better than everything else. And maybe the name is appropriate, as they are better than a lot of things, especially sloppy joes with charred meat and ketchup-y sauce and day-old white hamburger buns. Anyway, these are delicious, and I think I owe a huge thank you to my previous housemates for not only this recipe, but a small collection they bestowed upon me when I made the move to my new place.
Actually, I owe them a thank you for much much more than the recipes. They opened up their house to me for three months, fed me on a pretty regular basis, directed me to the best running trails in the area, and let me play with and babysit their pets. They did this all without accepting anything in return, telling me to pay it forward instead. And while I do intend on paying it forward, I hope they realize how much they helped me out this past winter. Thank you both so much!
...And I'm pretty sure they'll read this... :)
Actually, I owe them a thank you for much much more than the recipes. They opened up their house to me for three months, fed me on a pretty regular basis, directed me to the best running trails in the area, and let me play with and babysit their pets. They did this all without accepting anything in return, telling me to pay it forward instead. And while I do intend on paying it forward, I hope they realize how much they helped me out this past winter. Thank you both so much!
...And I'm pretty sure they'll read this... :)
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Thoughts on running
I went for a run today, a jog along an old rail bed turned into a cinder trail, and my mind started to wander. I never really get sick of running. Certainly, there are days that my body tells me I need a break and I embrace it, spending my time instead curled up with a book. And, there are days when my body probably needs a break but I don't allow it, only to suffer through an embarrassingly slow shuffle around the neighborhood. Running has taught me a lot: about myself, about life, and about random things like which water fountains are the coldest and least dirty in Central Park.
I suppose I officially started "running for fun" in middle school, but my childhood was spent playing games like hide-and-seek and tag and town soccer. When I was little, running was part of my games. I learned that it was way more fun to be outside being active than inside watching TV (I could write a whole blog on how ridiculously little I know about TV/movies/celebrities, and I attribute this to never watching TV when I was young; a small sacrifice for a life of staying busy).
When I joined cross-country in middle school, I learned how to balance my time. Practice was everyday after school, meets on Tuesday, Thursdays, and some Saturdays. At least three days of the week, I'd head directly from cross-country practice to the ice rink where I stayed for roughly four hours coaching skating and practicing. I had about 45 minutes of downtime, during which I at my dinner and did my homework sitting next to the heater in the locker room. And raided the snack bar. I attribute my Peanut M&M addiction to this period of my life.
Being a runner in middle school didn't generally correlate to being the coolest or trendiest kid (that status was reserved for the soccer and basketball players), but it provided me with a lot of respect, particularly when I could outrun such soccer and basketball players in the dreaded bi-yearly gym-class-mile. By nature, I'm not very competitive, but running taught me a little bit about determination, and I was determined not to let any of those cocky soccer or basketball boys outrun me in that mile.
Being a runner in high school, I learned a few additional things. In particular, I learned that running can be both incredibly boring and incredibly difficult. I reference the LSD runs around the school ("Long Steady Distance," in case you were getting any ideas) and those awful hill repeats on "Canning Hill." I also learned not to over-hydrate after a few episodes of collapsing at the end of races, resulting in numerous heart tests and blood tests only to establish that I was drinking water in excess out of sheer nerves prior to my races. I learned how to hurdle hay bales placed in the middle of cross-country courses, to embrace running in the rain, to accept bruised toenails, to successfully snot rocket (one nostril at a time, and never into the wind). Being part of a team ensured I learned all the words to "Build Me Up Buttercup," the "Mr. P handshake," and weird team traditions like head rubbing and human pyramids and tackle football (the latter I don't claim to be any good at).
College running was a whole new experience all together. I learned that running in a sports bra is acceptable in most circumstances, so long as that circumstance does not include downtown New London. I learned to bring a spare roll of toilet paper to large invitationals that only supply port-a-potties. I learned that solid white and solid black shirts hide sweat marks the best; gray the worst. College also taught me more about my potential; I could run for a really long time and could be fast if I wanted to be, and that I tended to run faster when I was less stressed about things. Additionally, I developed a love-hate relationship with bunners. I swear I run faster when I wear them, but this might be more out of embarrassment than anything. A piece of advice: don't put bunners in the dryer as it wears out the elastic. I learned this the hard way.
As much as I liked running on a team, post-college I learned that I prefer running for me. Grad school could be stressful and running offered me an escape. I'd go for long runs along the West Side Highway or through Central Park. I learned the layout of Manhattan by running its streets and parks. Being in a busy city, I learned to appreciate the parks the city had to offer. I think it's safe to say I can make it through Central Park's rambles with relative ease. Running also offered me an active way to study. I'm pretty sure I learned the entire visual transduction cascade by listening to my biochemistry lectures on my Ipod while running.
Post-college brought other little things: barefoot running, which showed me through sore muscles that my calves were not nearly as strong as I would have liked; marathons, where I learned the excruciating pain of mile 22; weekend "vent shuffles" with a friend, where I began to appreciate how therapeutic it can be to shamelessly complain about the annoyances of the previous week all while moving at a snail's pace.
The greatest part is that the pattern continues. I myself may be moving from place to place, experiencing new things, meeting new people, and about to start the next stage of my life as I will graduate (for good!) in three months. But, my running stays constant, and in that way it serves to settle me. It is here that I am comfortable, and learning every step of the way.
I suppose I officially started "running for fun" in middle school, but my childhood was spent playing games like hide-and-seek and tag and town soccer. When I was little, running was part of my games. I learned that it was way more fun to be outside being active than inside watching TV (I could write a whole blog on how ridiculously little I know about TV/movies/celebrities, and I attribute this to never watching TV when I was young; a small sacrifice for a life of staying busy).
When I joined cross-country in middle school, I learned how to balance my time. Practice was everyday after school, meets on Tuesday, Thursdays, and some Saturdays. At least three days of the week, I'd head directly from cross-country practice to the ice rink where I stayed for roughly four hours coaching skating and practicing. I had about 45 minutes of downtime, during which I at my dinner and did my homework sitting next to the heater in the locker room. And raided the snack bar. I attribute my Peanut M&M addiction to this period of my life.
Being a runner in middle school didn't generally correlate to being the coolest or trendiest kid (that status was reserved for the soccer and basketball players), but it provided me with a lot of respect, particularly when I could outrun such soccer and basketball players in the dreaded bi-yearly gym-class-mile. By nature, I'm not very competitive, but running taught me a little bit about determination, and I was determined not to let any of those cocky soccer or basketball boys outrun me in that mile.
Being a runner in high school, I learned a few additional things. In particular, I learned that running can be both incredibly boring and incredibly difficult. I reference the LSD runs around the school ("Long Steady Distance," in case you were getting any ideas) and those awful hill repeats on "Canning Hill." I also learned not to over-hydrate after a few episodes of collapsing at the end of races, resulting in numerous heart tests and blood tests only to establish that I was drinking water in excess out of sheer nerves prior to my races. I learned how to hurdle hay bales placed in the middle of cross-country courses, to embrace running in the rain, to accept bruised toenails, to successfully snot rocket (one nostril at a time, and never into the wind). Being part of a team ensured I learned all the words to "Build Me Up Buttercup," the "Mr. P handshake," and weird team traditions like head rubbing and human pyramids and tackle football (the latter I don't claim to be any good at).
College running was a whole new experience all together. I learned that running in a sports bra is acceptable in most circumstances, so long as that circumstance does not include downtown New London. I learned to bring a spare roll of toilet paper to large invitationals that only supply port-a-potties. I learned that solid white and solid black shirts hide sweat marks the best; gray the worst. College also taught me more about my potential; I could run for a really long time and could be fast if I wanted to be, and that I tended to run faster when I was less stressed about things. Additionally, I developed a love-hate relationship with bunners. I swear I run faster when I wear them, but this might be more out of embarrassment than anything. A piece of advice: don't put bunners in the dryer as it wears out the elastic. I learned this the hard way.
As much as I liked running on a team, post-college I learned that I prefer running for me. Grad school could be stressful and running offered me an escape. I'd go for long runs along the West Side Highway or through Central Park. I learned the layout of Manhattan by running its streets and parks. Being in a busy city, I learned to appreciate the parks the city had to offer. I think it's safe to say I can make it through Central Park's rambles with relative ease. Running also offered me an active way to study. I'm pretty sure I learned the entire visual transduction cascade by listening to my biochemistry lectures on my Ipod while running.
Post-college brought other little things: barefoot running, which showed me through sore muscles that my calves were not nearly as strong as I would have liked; marathons, where I learned the excruciating pain of mile 22; weekend "vent shuffles" with a friend, where I began to appreciate how therapeutic it can be to shamelessly complain about the annoyances of the previous week all while moving at a snail's pace.
The greatest part is that the pattern continues. I myself may be moving from place to place, experiencing new things, meeting new people, and about to start the next stage of my life as I will graduate (for good!) in three months. But, my running stays constant, and in that way it serves to settle me. It is here that I am comfortable, and learning every step of the way.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Coffee
I drink my coffee black with a few exceptions. Also, while people tend to assume I'm a coffee addict (and probably rightly so, since I've been hooked since middle school), I generally only drink one or two cups first thing in the morning. I'm not a six-cup-a-day kind of girl. That being said, I have what I think of as a negative response to caffeine: negative meaning that I do not get all fidgety and jittery with my morning cup, rather I feel quite normal. It is the lack of caffeine that does me in: a negative response in that I literally cannot function like a normal human being until I'm adequately caffeinated. I'm not ashamed.
The occasions where I do alter my virgin coffee with a little milk and sugar (or honey, but never artificial sweetener, which does weird things to me), are of somewhat great significance because they signify certain things about my day and mood. So, I will mention them briefly here.
1.) If the coffee is bad. This refers to the standard gas station cup of coffee, as well as Starbucks. As popular as it is, I just don't really like Starbucks coffee, without milk and sugar to hide its burned taste. I am a fan of their frothy milk drinks, however. Chai tea latte, anyone?
2.) If I drink coffee past noon. I'm not sure why this is. It might have something to do with lack of access to a toothbrush later in the day. Coffee diluted with milk leaves less of an aftertaste and is less likely to turn ones' teeth yellow.
3.) If I drink iced coffee. Unless my morning black coffee turns cold before I can finish it, I think the idea of iced black coffee is kind of weird. It's essentially the same as warm coffee left in the fridge. I don't know. It just needs something additional. And really, iced black coffee is definitely not thirst quenching; whereas, iced coffee with milk and sugar is kind of thirst quenching. In the middle of summer, when iced coffee is appealing, isn't this what one is looking for? And, while I'm on the topic, I have a few issues with iced coffee. 1.) It's a rip-off, especially from Starbucks, where the ice to coffee ratio is far too high. 2.) Drinking coffee through a straw just doesn't seem right. And, 3.) It's ICED coffee, not ICE coffee, however complicated this may seem to the people who make cafe menus. Adjective, not noun.
Ok, I'm done with my little tangent/rant.
Anyway, coffee is part of who I am, part of my routine, and crucial to my overall well-being. I'm fortunate that "meeting for a cup of coffee" is a huge part of our culture. Not only does it make us feel energized (or human, in my case), it's a great excuse for a little social interaction. With that said, first thing in the morning I drink my coffee in silence. I consider myself a morning person, but I am not a conversation starter during that first cup. In fact, if you attempt to speak to me during that first cup, I may not fully comprehend what you are saying. Please don't be offended; I simply must bask in the comfort of my morning caffeine fix.
And so, I have finished my second cup of coffee this morning. Time to start my day!
The occasions where I do alter my virgin coffee with a little milk and sugar (or honey, but never artificial sweetener, which does weird things to me), are of somewhat great significance because they signify certain things about my day and mood. So, I will mention them briefly here.
1.) If the coffee is bad. This refers to the standard gas station cup of coffee, as well as Starbucks. As popular as it is, I just don't really like Starbucks coffee, without milk and sugar to hide its burned taste. I am a fan of their frothy milk drinks, however. Chai tea latte, anyone?
2.) If I drink coffee past noon. I'm not sure why this is. It might have something to do with lack of access to a toothbrush later in the day. Coffee diluted with milk leaves less of an aftertaste and is less likely to turn ones' teeth yellow.
3.) If I drink iced coffee. Unless my morning black coffee turns cold before I can finish it, I think the idea of iced black coffee is kind of weird. It's essentially the same as warm coffee left in the fridge. I don't know. It just needs something additional. And really, iced black coffee is definitely not thirst quenching; whereas, iced coffee with milk and sugar is kind of thirst quenching. In the middle of summer, when iced coffee is appealing, isn't this what one is looking for? And, while I'm on the topic, I have a few issues with iced coffee. 1.) It's a rip-off, especially from Starbucks, where the ice to coffee ratio is far too high. 2.) Drinking coffee through a straw just doesn't seem right. And, 3.) It's ICED coffee, not ICE coffee, however complicated this may seem to the people who make cafe menus. Adjective, not noun.
Ok, I'm done with my little tangent/rant.
Anyway, coffee is part of who I am, part of my routine, and crucial to my overall well-being. I'm fortunate that "meeting for a cup of coffee" is a huge part of our culture. Not only does it make us feel energized (or human, in my case), it's a great excuse for a little social interaction. With that said, first thing in the morning I drink my coffee in silence. I consider myself a morning person, but I am not a conversation starter during that first cup. In fact, if you attempt to speak to me during that first cup, I may not fully comprehend what you are saying. Please don't be offended; I simply must bask in the comfort of my morning caffeine fix.
And so, I have finished my second cup of coffee this morning. Time to start my day!
Saturday, January 12, 2013
I've had a song stuck in my head, and it's a good one. It's one of those songs that ironically the only way to get it out of your head is to listen to it over and over again, preferably with the volume up. I guess maybe this eliminates the novelty for a little while so another song can creep in there and take its place. It's on repeat in the background right now.
If you'd like, you can listen to it too: "All U Can Eat" by Ben Folds. I think I like it because it's about the gluttony that perpetuates American culture, but it's still satirical as many Ben Folds songs are. SUVs, Wal-Mart, the irony of an "asshole with a peace sign on his license plate giving me the finger and running me out of his lane," are all things we see on a pretty regular basis. Consumerism is the basis of narcissist America.
While I do believe there are fewer places more irksome than Wal-Mart, I myself am guilty of purchasing more than I truly need, as I think a large percentage of us are. The unfortunate thing is, there are many that cannot even fulfill their basic needs. And there, I believe, lies the problem with Consumerism -- not the fact that we overeat at restaurant buffets or feel the need to buy everything from an automatic car starter to a mood ring -- but the fact that there so many people who don't have access to the basics like clean water, medical care, or food. We pop hot-pockets into the microwave with a mid-afternoon stomach growl, and there are children throughout the world and in this country who are starving. I don't bring this up to make those of us who are able to live comfortably or affluently feel bad about their good fortune. I bring it up to remind people the importance of giving back. Have your mid-afternoon hot-pocket, but donate to your local food shelf. Buy that warm winter jacket, but give your old one to charity. Volunteer. Don't be selfish. And listen to "All U Can Eat," but only if you're prepared to get it stuck in your head.
If you'd like, you can listen to it too: "All U Can Eat" by Ben Folds. I think I like it because it's about the gluttony that perpetuates American culture, but it's still satirical as many Ben Folds songs are. SUVs, Wal-Mart, the irony of an "asshole with a peace sign on his license plate giving me the finger and running me out of his lane," are all things we see on a pretty regular basis. Consumerism is the basis of narcissist America.
While I do believe there are fewer places more irksome than Wal-Mart, I myself am guilty of purchasing more than I truly need, as I think a large percentage of us are. The unfortunate thing is, there are many that cannot even fulfill their basic needs. And there, I believe, lies the problem with Consumerism -- not the fact that we overeat at restaurant buffets or feel the need to buy everything from an automatic car starter to a mood ring -- but the fact that there so many people who don't have access to the basics like clean water, medical care, or food. We pop hot-pockets into the microwave with a mid-afternoon stomach growl, and there are children throughout the world and in this country who are starving. I don't bring this up to make those of us who are able to live comfortably or affluently feel bad about their good fortune. I bring it up to remind people the importance of giving back. Have your mid-afternoon hot-pocket, but donate to your local food shelf. Buy that warm winter jacket, but give your old one to charity. Volunteer. Don't be selfish. And listen to "All U Can Eat," but only if you're prepared to get it stuck in your head.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
I probably should have written this first
Consider this the introduction. This is a blog I'm creating simply to write. There is no theme, no hidden message. I'm not committing myself to posting daily, weekly even. I'll add to this when the mood strikes, whenever I encounter something write-able. So, readers, enjoy. And, please let me know what you think!
This evening I put on my slippers: old man slippers for that matter, the kind with the fuzzy wool on the inside that overflows onto the sides, the kind that nearly outwardly brag about their extreme warmth and comfort. If these slippers could talk they'd certainly be superfluous in all they say.
What is it about foot comfort that is so satisfying? Pedicures, foot baths, massages, warm socks, and old man slippers. Not to mention pumice stones, toe separators, and minty lotions that stain your socks with their pungent odor. Now, I don't take my foot comfort to the extreme; I prefer warm socks and slippers to a stranger poking and prodding my misformed toes anyday. But, I still see the value in these tiny indulgences, little creature comforts as they are.
Personally, I am a foot destroyer. I've figure skated since I was old enough to walk, I run barefoot on a pretty regular basis, and I have not once in my life had a pedicure. The only extent to which vanity stretches to my toes is in the form of Barbie pink nail polish, applied mostly in order to create the illusion that my pinky toe is more than a misformed stub sans toenail. Foot destruction aside, I still enjoy the warmth and comfort provided by my slippers. They've held up for years. They're indestructible, and in that way they're like my feet. Tough and weathered, but still holding me strong.
What is it about foot comfort that is so satisfying? Pedicures, foot baths, massages, warm socks, and old man slippers. Not to mention pumice stones, toe separators, and minty lotions that stain your socks with their pungent odor. Now, I don't take my foot comfort to the extreme; I prefer warm socks and slippers to a stranger poking and prodding my misformed toes anyday. But, I still see the value in these tiny indulgences, little creature comforts as they are.
Personally, I am a foot destroyer. I've figure skated since I was old enough to walk, I run barefoot on a pretty regular basis, and I have not once in my life had a pedicure. The only extent to which vanity stretches to my toes is in the form of Barbie pink nail polish, applied mostly in order to create the illusion that my pinky toe is more than a misformed stub sans toenail. Foot destruction aside, I still enjoy the warmth and comfort provided by my slippers. They've held up for years. They're indestructible, and in that way they're like my feet. Tough and weathered, but still holding me strong.
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