My Lovely Little Christmas Tree

You know what? Nobody ever told me how sad it is to take down a christmas tree alone! I mean, I should have guessed; with all the magical joy I felt whilst looking at my tree every night for the last few weeks, it should have been obvious that literally eliminating this joy provider would be sort of depressing. I guess I just didn't want to acknowledge the truth. 

Oh, yeah. No big deal. It's just that...I had my first christmas tree this year! Backing up a bit - I've always been a huge fan of christmas decorations. I obsess over my parents' tree and make sure to put every ornament they own somewhere on the tree. My favorites to include are the three little animal dolls that my parents had at their first christmas together, as well as the numerous beautiful crafty ornaments my sister made over the years (see more about those here). I love, love, LOVE my parents' tree. I mean, who wouldn't? Look at it!

So, it's kind of weird that I've never had my own tree. This year, I decided I'd buy one. I scoped out the beautiful trees at my students' houses, did a little online research, and finally took a Friday evening trip to Target with my boyfriend, Andy, to do some shopping. Sadly, however, this shopping trip led me to eventually find out the sad truth: christmas trees are expensive, man! I mean, yes, it was peak season and all, but wow. Ca$h money, amiright gals?!

I sadly decided and told Andy that I'd just buy one on clearance at the end of the season. I must have looked like a total pathetic sad sack at that moment. So much, in fact, that my dear and lovely boyfriend showed up at my apartment later that night with...my very own christmas tree!!! He secretly went back to Target later in the evening and bought me a beautiful, wonderful tree that conveniently unfolds in three separate pieces. Look!

I love it! It was easy to put together, and pretty skinny, but seven feet tall! Yep, seven feet. It nearly hits my ceiling. Is it a rational choice for my apartment? No, not at all. But do I love it beyond belief? Duh.

My mom tipped me off about the cheap christmas sales at Michael's, which is a store I usually never set foot in because I hate arts and crafts. I can't explain why, but ugh, bored. I can't handle doing crafts. Anyhow, look at all this glittery stuff that you can stick right in the tree!

Lovely Andy also brought me some of the funny ornaments that he had laying around his house for some reason. Probably gifts from his aunties.

Here, have a look at the rest of my lovely tree!

This was hanging on a wine bottle a good friend of mine gave me at the holidays a few years ago. Until I had a tree, it hung on my bookshelf. Joy can hang anywhere!

Oh, my brilliant cousin Layla sent me this squirrel ornament after I had a squirrel in my apartment. Yep, times I want to remember. Thanks, Layla. Thanks a lot. =)

This handy ornament came right on the tree! Fancy that!

Handmade snowflake from one of my students a few years back.

Cookie ornament that I received this year! It's Norwegian, and I'm not sure if it's edible. Hmm, it's probably not. Into the box it goes!

Handmade snowflake from the same Norwegian family, from a few years back.

Here it is, all lit up!

Yep, right in the middle of my living room. I didn't play piano for the whole time this was up because I couldn't pull the bench out or reach the keyboard, but it was pretty much worth it.

View from laying on the couch and looking up at my lovely tree. Best gift I received this year, from somebody who obviously knows me very well. 

Coming home to this little lit-up tree after working late on cold winter nights was such a lovely way to end my evenings. I am so grateful to have had it lighting up my apartment for the last few weeks. Next year, perhaps I'll plan ahead and move a table so that the tree can fit in a corner, as opposed to taking up most of the floor space in my living room. Or not. Either way, I'll be happy.  

Appreciations #2: Ludwig van Beethoven, Or Ode to Ode to Joy

Give it a listen, and maybe you'll see what I mean. Start at 41:00:


I think it's safe to say that, at any given time, three or more of my students are working on one or another version of the song, "Ode to Joy." There is the simple, one-hand-at-a-time, two-line melody that kids learn before they've even seen a staff of music. There's the slightly more complicated two-handed one, which involves the right hand moving up high on the piano for the second run through the main theme, then back down for the victorious ending. And there's the most complicated version, the one that imitates the basses and cellos in original orchestral composition, playing the familiar melody in the bass range of the piano, then developing into a more complicated accompaniment with the theme on top. Ode to Joy is probably one of the most recognized classical works ever; kids and parents know it, non-musicians recognize it, most people can hum along with little-to-no help.

So it may be a surprise that Ode to Joy is one of my absolute favorite-ever pieces of classical music. What a common, ordinary song to choose as a favorite. And this, after years of my parents having my siblings and I listen to the diverse selections on NPR Morning Classics, spending four years as a music major in my undergrad and two more in my Masters program, again in music. After seventeen years of piano lessons, as well as two years of clarinet, some harpsichord, voice, guitar and drum lessons, and countless years of choir. After learning to analyze, identify, and pick apart any and every kind of classical music from Bach to Stravinsky to Philip Glass, I still go back to Ode to Joy. Every time, I find myself back there.

Every time...well, that's somewhat of an exaggeration. Every Moody time? Every Emotional time? Every Sad, Thrilled, Confused, Restless, Blissful, Crabby, Exhausted, Calm time, is more what I mean. There is no bad mood that Ode to Joy will not help, there is no height of emotion that Ode to Joy will not exacerbate; it is the perfect soundtrack to any moment or feeling in my life. It grasps at every corner of my brain and soul, catching little bits of conflicting feelings and shoving them all together, so that I all of a sudden catch myself driving through the country at 7:45 on a Thursday morning, singing in German at the top of my lungs, windows wide open, arms and face freezing, big stupid smile on my face as tears roll down my cheeks. Ode to Joy is all of it. Ode to Joy is everything all at once. Hopelessness and hope, resistance and unity, faith and freedom, all rolled into one. All at the same time.

I've been lucky enough to get to dedicate my life to music. As a child and teenager, I was a reluctant performer. As a college student, a slightly-less reluctant performer, as well as a budding and curious music theory nerd. Post-college, I finally embraced my love for teaching and was privileged enough to combine teaching with music and form my current career. The musical opportunities in my life have been numerous, rewarding, hilarious and humbling. I've opened for Dar Williams's opener, I've played for a large crowd at a feminist bookstore's open mic, performed at a fundraiser for my sister's law firm, played in a ridiculously fun punk band with my best college lady friends, followed a piano-cello version of "November Rain" with an encore of "Time After Time" with my BFF, played a hymn at my grandfather's funeral, and shared the stage with my insanely talented and lovely piano students, among many other experiences. But no performance compares to getting to sing in a choir to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony in the "Ode to Joy" movement.

My friend Katie and I spent a year in choir together, giggling and laughing and making up nicknames for our fellow singers. There was Ursula, who looked like Ursula from The Little Mermaid and had the most perfect German pronunciation. There was Wally, who, well...he looked like a Walrus. And he was the loudest tenor in the group, always overcompensating for the small group by over-singing and making a show of himself. And there was The Lumberjack, who, as Katie reminded me this morning, always came to choir in a flannel shirt and suspenders. It was not much different from the rest of my college years, all the laughing through class and nicknames (shout out to 819!), but when we all came together to sing with the orchestra, everything sort of settled. We calmed down and stood up straight and proud, followed Ursula's tips for proper pronunciation, and sang our hearts out. We must have sang through the entire movement at least fifty times, and I loved it every single time.

I always wonder if I am able to appreciate certain pieces of music more if I've had the chance to play or sing them, or really look at the music. Maybe I can hear the intricacies and details more when I get a chance to see them in the sheet music, to feel them with my fingers as I sight-read for the first time, to discover what is actually happening in the music. To feel why I will later get a chill when that measure is played, and why I will later smile when I hear that particular ascending chord progression. I feel so fortunate to have this. Musically, Ode to Joy is pretty difficult to sing. For an alto who, when harmonizing with her brother, always chooses the lower part (to be fair, he has a truly magnificent falsetto), the higher notes in the Ode to Joy were a giant stretch.

Here, have a listen or watch to another version (incomplete):
Watch the orchestral section beginning at 13:16, and wait for the part at 14:32. Look at the anticipation. Listen to everybody - the orchestra, the choir, the audience - waiting, almost wincing, ready for what is to come. Watch the conductor's face as the music nearly disappears, and then swells into this incredible moment of relief and bliss. I just cried again while watching this video. Chills. Every single time.

There is a section of the song, a fugue (almost like a round), found at 59:25 in the first video posted above, in which all four voice parts are singing repeated lyrics, but different notes, all at the same time, growing and developing into a beautifully monstrous rolling pile of voices. I might never have paid much attention to this part of the movement had I not sung it. And, had our conductor not insisted that we do this section ridiculously fast and precise. Never before this moment had I experienced something "hard to do" in singing. I always just sang, man. But with this fugue, this tiny minute-and-a-half piece of music, I had to focus intently, concentrate on every note, on breathing at the exact right moment, at pronouncing those umlauts like Ursula taught us, at increasing the volume of my voice just right, and then, at the crazy high note, singing as soft as possible while still projecting. I don't think I'd ever really worked that hard to make music before.

And then, in a tiny and beautiful moment, all the hard work turned into pure joy. When I could truly lose myself in the music, be a little less focused and a little more floaty, losing myself a bit among the notes, I realized I was surrounded by about 80 other people singing the same song, the same words and notes, and we were all singing together to create the most beautiful piece of music to exist, at least in that moment.

I have found myself, as of late, saying that I've "just been more emotional" in the last year. I'd love to blame it on, first, the tumultuous political atmosphere of the city in which I live, the personal attacks on teachers - especially my friends and the man I love - the vitriol and hate and polarization to which people in Wisconsin have been driven. Or, I can easily say I've been far more emotional since the sudden death of one of my best friends, followed closely by the loss of my dear grandfather. It could be true, and it most likely is. But really, I've always been an extremely emotional person. And I know that music goes hand-in-hand with all of this emotion. But which came first? Does the music just enhance all the emotion that's already sitting in my body, waiting to arise at just the right moment? Or does my emotional self make me hear the music a little harder, feeling physical reactions to just the right combination of sounds? What exactly is it that causes me to find myself on a Thursday morning on that country drive, crying and smiling and singing as if absolutely nothing else in the world matters or even exists?

Maybe it's just Beethoven. His music has and always will bring out the truth in me, tells me my own emotions when I have no clue how to identify them, and explains what I've been feeling all this time, simply through music. What an amazing individual, to be able to affect complete strangers living in different centuries who'd never even heard of him until years after he died. What a full and beautiful and insightful person. Much gratitude, Beethoven. Thank you.

O Freunde, nicht diese Töne! Sondern laßt uns angenehmere an stimmen, und freudenvollere. Freude! (men's chorus: Freude! ) Freude! (chorus again: Freude! )	Oh friends, not these tones! Rather, let us raise our voices in more pleasing And more joyful sounds! Joy! (Joy!) Joy! (Joy!)
Freude, schöner Götterfunken* Tochter aus Elysium, Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum! Deine Zauber binden wieder Was die Mode streng geteilt; Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.	Joy, beautiful spark of the gods* Daughter of Elysium, We enter, drunk with fire, Heavenly one, your sanctuary! Your magic reunites What custom strictly divided. All men become brothers, Where your gentle wing rests.
Wem der große Wurf gelungen, Eines Freundes Freund zu sein; Wer ein holdes Weib errungen, Mische seinen Jubel ein! Ja, wer auch nur eine Seele Sein nennt auf dem Erdenrund! Und wer's nie gekonnt, der stehle Weinend sich aus diesem Bund!	Whoever has had the great fortune To be a friend's friend, Whoever has won a devoted wife, Join in our jubilation! Indeed, whoever can call even one soul His own on this earth! And whoever was never able to, must creep Tearfully away from this band!
Freude trinken alle Wesen An den Brüsten der Natur; Alle Guten, alle Bösen Folgen ihrer Rosenspur. Küsse gab sie uns und Reben, Einen Freund, geprüft im Tod; Wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben, Und der Cherub steht vor Gott. Vor Gott!	Joy all creatures drink At the breasts of nature; All good, all bad Follow her trail of roses. Kisses she gave us, and wine, A friend, proved to the end; Pleasure was given to the worm, And the cherub stands before God. Before God!
Froh, wie seine Sonnen fliegen Durch des Himmels prächt'gen Plan, Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn, Freudig, wie ein Held zum Siegen.	Glad, as His suns fly Through the Heaven's glorious design, Run, brothers, your path, Joyful, as a hero to victory.
Seid umschlungen, Millionen! Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt! Brüder, über'm Sternenzelt Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen. Ihr stürzt nieder, Millionen? Ahnest du den Schöpfer, Welt? Such' ihn über'm Sternenzelt! Über Sternen muss er wohnen.	Be embraced, millions! This kiss for the whole world! Brothers, above the starry canopy Must a loving Father dwell. Do you bow down, millions? Do you sense the Creator, world? Seek Him beyond the starry canopy! Beyond the stars must He dwell.
Finale repeats the words: Seid umschlungen, Millionen! Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt! Brüder, über'm Sternenzelt Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen. Seid umschlungen, Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt! Freude, schöner Götterfunken Tochter aus Elysium, Freude, schöner Götterfunken Götterfunken!	Finale repeats the words: Be embraced, you millions! This kiss for the whole world! Brothers, beyond the star-canopy Must a loving Father dwell. Be embraced, This kiss for the whole world! Joy, beautiful spark of the gods, Daughter of Elysium, Joy, beautiful spark of the gods Spark of the gods!

-from Wikipedia

The Elusive Student Handbook

When I was in second grade, I memorized all the state capitals of the United States. I think, around the same time, my sister was studying them as well, and I helped her memorize them with the use of this book:

Student Handbook! How comprehensive! In the geography section, there was a list of states, organized by region, and their capitals. I quizzed Sara on each state, relentlessly repeating "Richmond, Virginia," because she just couldn't remember it. My Dad would peep in and out of the family room, listening to us. I remember him cracking up when he heard the capital of Florida: Tallahassee. "This is how we say 'Come over here and kiss my ass' in Arabic!" he exclaimed. Well, you'd actually pronounce it "Ta'al boos teezi." Same difference. I remember sitting with the heavy, brown book in my lap and giggling with my father and sister. Oh, America. You have no idea how hilarious you are in Arabic.

Anyhow, that Student Handbook was the greatest. It had so much information in it, and it really appealed to me as a kid. I loved it. So you can imagine my surprise and excitement then, when, last weekend, I saw that a friend of mine had the very same book on his bookshelf! I was thrilled, and sat on the floor for a good half hour, poring over the pages and laughing at the pictures in the dictionary which was in the last two-thirds of the book. Here are some of my favorites:

Oh, a muff AND a muffler! There's a difference!

Round-shouldered boy. Yep.

I just like the sound of all these E-words.

I'm both enraptured and enthralled by that gentleman's enigmatic smile. Also? English horn.

I don't think that house looks all that eerie. This pictorial definition is deceiving!

I like the potential correlation between drumsticks and drippings. Delicious.

Look at the interplay between dragon and downcast eyes! Totally on purpose.

Embryo of a rabbit. That is all.

Look at this guy! Look at this damn exhibitionist! He sure expanded my watchband, if you know what I mean...

This is also a history lesson, because you can see the tackiness that was considered "fancy" back in the 1970s.

Writing with flourishes! I feel like this group of pictures is pretty fruity.

Look at that judgey woman! It's just a furled sail, lady. And a fulcrum. Don't hate.

I understand this boy completely. I, too, gape in wonder at the majesty of the Student Handbook. The gargoyle is sort of gaping in wonder as well, don't you think?

I just love this one. No explanation necessary.

Handlebar mustache AND handcuffs in the same group? YOW-OW-OW!!!

Hey, it's Ole Lady McJudgey again!

What a slob.

Pictures aside, some of the definitions are hilarious as well. Check out what "Hollywood" means.

This one is just a little depressing.
I'm so glad I got to relive the pictures of the Student Handbook as an adult! I truly believe that my sarcasm and cynicism play well into my judgement of pictures. What a productive day!

Appreciations #1: Jeremi Blowfish

So I started writing this in early February, before Alex died, before my grandfather died...of course. Brains might be psychic sometimes, I don't know. Anyhow, I thought this would be a good one to finish, and hopefully continue the plan in the future.

It may be because I can't sleep and my brain is being a crazy person right now and not leaving me alone to lay down and breathe and sleep. Or it may be because I've been thinking about doing this for a couple of months now. Either way, I think it's time to throw around a little recognition. So...a bit morbid, yes, but maybe we need to be writing eulogies (or do I need a different word?) for people we love and care about while they're still alive. Hear me out. I'm trying, really trying, to be vocally loving and thankful to people in my life for what they've done, how they've affected me (or others or anything or the world), the beautiful little things they bring to life. I wish we did this all the time. I wish it was a part of every day life. Maybe even some sort of rule. Maybe one to live by. We need to appreciate more out loud, recognize the amazing people in our lives, and tell them. And tell everybody. So, my new project is to tell you all about some of the remarkable people I've had in my life, to share some appreciation for those people, and to tell stories about them so even more people know.

But at first I wasn't quite sure where to start; it all felt a little random and overwhelming. So, since I haven't talked this person in a really long time (but, of course, have connected on facebook recently) and I really do appreciate him, AND I've been hearing a lot of Rammstein lately, I thought I'd start here. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...Jeremi Blowfish!

When she was in high school, my sister had a job at a camera store in Glenview, IL, where we grew up. She worked with mostly creepy older men, but there was one person there close to her age. This was Jeremi. He looked like a cuter version of Silent Bob. He always wore all black, often band t-shirts, and he listened to a lot of industrial music. He worked in the lab at the camera store, developing pictures. He is the most talented photographer I've ever come across in my entire life (have a look around his website here). He started hanging out with Sara, and then with Sara and I, in our parents' basement, as that was pretty much all we were doing in the early-to-mid 90s.
Landscape photo by Jeremi Bialowas

One summer afternoon, Jeremi called into a radio station to request a song (perhaps some Rammstein, Jeremi?) and he told them his full name: Jeremi Bialowas. The DJ, naturally being sort of an ass, was all "Who? Jeremi Blowfish?! What's this?" And thusly, Jeremi Blowfish was born.

Jeremi came to the Spice Girls concert with my cousins, Layla and Lameis, and I. The four of us sat surrounded by a giant field of little girls and their mothers. I think it's safe to assume that Jeremi was one of the only men there, and definitely the only one who hadn't been dragged there by a 7-year-old - yep, he went voluntarily. Behind us was a group of four girls and three moms. Each mom had a girl up on her shoulders in order to see better. One girl was standing on the ground, up on her tiptoes, straining to see. Jeremi, in his heavy accent, said to the mother, "Would you like me to peek up your leetle girl so that she can see thee Spice Girls?" The mom gave Jeremi, the tall, bearded, long-haired man dressed all in black (let's say he was wearing a KMFDM shirt), the once over before deciding, "Sure, why not?" Jeremi held the little girl on his shoulders for the rest of the show. He bobbed up and down and back and forth, holding on to her legs for her safety, while she raised her hands in the air and cheered for the band. Later he said that he didn't mind it at all because it gave him something to do with his hands. He didn't want to stand around with his arms crossed like at all those other shows, you see?

My father's office is full of Jeremi's photographs. I think they're from the Grand Canyon. The pictures are giant and framed and have been hanging on the walls of the office since probably 1996. They set a peaceful scene in the office of the urologist. They provide a calm that might not be present otherwise. Time in the urologist's office can be anxious. I love that those pictures are still there.

When Jeremi was working on a project for one of his photography classes at school, he had an assignment to use a special kind of camera. Please forgive me, Jeremi; I have no idea what it was or what it did. But he asked me to pose at the piano. For several Saturdays in a row, we'd hang out around the piano for about 4-5 hours each time, me sitting, sometimes playing, and Jeremi turning knobs and flipping switches and changing little silver things I had no idea about. He'd say "just play and I'll take pictures when I need to," and I was probably very difficult, being the extremely self-conscious teenager I was at the time, but Jeremi managed to get his shots. When we were done, we'd get these microwave cheeseburgers out of the freezer and eat in front of the television in the family room. We literally spent hours and hours together, and I never got sick of him. He gave my parents one of the prints of me at the piano and they still have it in their house, hanging on the wall right outside their bedroom.

For my high school graduation, Jeremi gave me a picture he took in a cemetery in a north suburb of Chicago. It is a close up picture of the face of a statue, gray and speckled, with a pink flower next to it. He said that when he returned to this place just a couple of days after this picture was taken, the statue had been demolished and it looked like it had never been there. Sort of magical, if you ask me. Well, that's Jeremi Blowfish for you. Sort of magical. Also? He gave me a limited edition Barbie (Prom or Princess or something) for that graduation. Yep. Magical.


And so, let us recognize, and let us appreciate Jeremi Blowfish. I'm extremely appreciative for his strong musical influence in my life, as well as his artistic influence which majorly helped feed my love for photography, and the fact that he'd totally take me to Denny's any time. Do you even know how cool I felt, Jeremi, driving late at night, windows open, hanging out with the cool older kids? Do you even know?? Damn. Jeremi now works in the Chicagoland area as a photographer and teacher, so maybe you should call him up for your next photography-related need, eh? He'll do great photography and make you feel cool. What a combination!

Thanks for reading, readers! Let's continue to appreciate often and loudly. If anybody else wants to jump in on this, I'd love a guest writer or two! Let me know. xo

Don't Forget What You Buy - It Could Result in Sandwiches

Man, sometimes I'm so foolish. Or forgetful. Or flaky. Or all of those things, as I realized I've been until tonight. You know what I forgot I owned? A sandwich toaster!!! I don't know why I remembered this tonight, but all of a sudden, the thought popped into my head that I'd bought a sandwich toaster some time in the last year. I was with my Mom at Target and it was on sale for $6. Yeah, I definitely got a deal there. Apparently I brought it back home and put it away in a cabinet and forgot all about it! How foolish. And forgetful. And flaky. Such a sad story.

But here's a happier story: in college, I had one of these sandwich toasters in my dorm room. My friend Helen and I made hundreds of toasted cheese sandwiches in that thing. We needed only three ingredients: square-shaped bread (such as Wonderbread), Velveeta cheese, and margarine. I kept them in my mini-fridge. Yuck. But really, delicious. I remember the day of Helen's senior cello recital - the day we got to play Prince covers! She came over and, in order to calm her nerves, painted her toenails while I made us toasted cheese sandwiches. Yes, with Velveeta and margarine. Look, that Velveeta just fits perfectly into the compartments. And the cheese melts so well...sigh.

So, I'm thankful that I had that memory of sandwich toasters float into my brain tonight, and just before I needed a little snack! I knew exactly where the sandwich toaster was: in the cabinet behind the hand mixer. This is embarrassing because I go in that cabinet pretty often to get either the hand mixer for baking or the Magic Bullet for making hummus and being awesome. In fact, I used the mixer earlier today to make cookies. Whoops a daisy. Anyhow, there it is! Hopefully I'll be opening that cabinet a lot more in the future to make those donuts, too.

Here's what it looks like, all clean and cute. The cord is even tied together! So new!

Here's the inside. See the sandwich half compartments? Look how organized! I obviously love it.

If you do it right, you'll end up with two (or four) perfectly toasted sandwich triangles. With a ton of melted cheese inside. Maybe Velveeta.

I learned the hard way (when I used this appliance as a teenager and again in college) that you really need to separate the ingredients as you make the sandwich. That's smoked turkey breast.

If you just sloppily lay on all the ingredients, there will be a gross burned line of meats and cheese down the middle of the sandwich because of the triangle shapes. Take the time to separate; it's worth it. That's salami, by the way.

And white american cheese, in those same lovely triangles! Apparently I was just too excited to add any vegetables. Seriously, the thought didn't even cross my mind until right this second.

After putting the sandwich in the toaster, it wouldn't close all the way, but I wasn't too worried.

Well, okay, I was a little worried. My nerves get the best of me when sandwiches are involved. I just want them to be wonderful and delicious!

The finished product! See that diagonal line? That's where you'd have burned meat and cheese if you hadn't been so organized earlier. A little goes a long way, when it comes to sandwich ingredient organizing. Please also note that extra part at the end. My bread was too hearty and not tiny and square enough like Wonderbread.

I used a knife to take it out because I'm too lazy to move two feet over to get a spatula.

Look, there's hardly any mess at all! Just two globs of cheese that I'll let harden and scrape off later. Wah wah!

Look at that beautifully toasted sandwich.

The inside - no burned mess!

And the cheese was melted just enough.

Delicious! Believe you me, I'll be making plenty more toasted sandwiches this winter. Can you imagine a peanut butter and jam in there? Or Nutella and banana? Or something involving tomato and spinach and cheeses? Maybe I'll even buy some Velveeta...