Monthly Archives: April 2012

Fasting photos

Here’s some pics I’ve taken this week. Today has been much better than yesterday. I have allowed myself a little more fruit today than the last few days, and I haven’t had any lemons. So maybe my taste buds just needed a break from the tartness.

Based on recommendations I’ve read this week, I plan on reintroducing solid foods tomorrow, but will continue eating just fruits and veggies still until May 1. (I’ll probably do a juice or two a day and a chewable salad type meal.)

I have suspected for a while that something I was eating was not agreeing with me, but I didn’t know how to pinpoint what it was. I think that is is the biggest reason that I was having such a hard time losing weight before, and why I’m dropping weight so quickly now. Because, really, the caloric value of the juices isn’t much less than I was eating before. So, after May 1, when I start reintroducing new foods, I’m planning to do it slowly so I can really see how things like wheat and dairy effect my system. All in all, I think this has been a really interesting experience. I recommend it.

BTW, because someone asked, I’ll go ahead and say it: since Sunday I’ve lost 8.6 pounds.

Juicing, day three

I started the juice fast at about 2:00 pm on Sunday. Monday and Tuesday went well, and the scale has been making me happy. Today, though…not fabulous. While I’m feeling fine now, I spent most of the day feeling like I had been punched in the stomach. Nothing tasted good, so I had one fruit juice for breakfast and then nursed a salad-in-a-glass juice. All day. And only drank half of it. I’m drinking cucumber-lemon-orange water now (1/3 juice, 2/3 water). It’s alright, not super enthused about it.

Tomorrow I am meeting a friend for juice at Whole Foods in the morning and then going to a juice bar later in the day, so maybe “eating out” will re-energize me a bit.


What I’m Writing: Clouded #8 RecOps Assignment

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I’m trying really hard not to zone out in my class.  I just want to sleep.  My head is propped on my right hand. I’m not taking notes, and I know I should be. My left hand periodically lifts the can of diet coke to my lips, and my eyes follow Oliver Cunningham, Professor of the Recording Arts, as he paces back and forth between his podium, where his notes are resting, and the soundboard that he has set up in the corner of the room.  His straight brown hair, cut in a pageboy style, and his jeans and polo shirt make him look much younger than his resume would suggest.  He has explained to us gains, EQ, filters, and faders with such enthusiasm you would think he was showing us a car he built from the ground up.  I’m never going to use this information, and as hard as I try, I can’t seem to absorb anything he’s saying.  The soundboard still looks as foreign to me as a space shuttle cockpit.

“We’ll have a quiz on the basics next week. Also, your studio observations are due by the end of the month.”

“Studio observations?” Sarah-Joe asks, half raising her hand but not waiting to be called on.

“Details are in the syllabus,” Professor Cunningham says.  He’s annoyed, he doesn’t like Sarah-Joe and he doesn’t try to hide it.  She asks too many questions too often.  She interrupts his flow, and causes him to lose his train of thought.  She is generally annoying, but, in this class, I’m thankful for her questions.  It means I don’t have to ask them.

“Sorry, Professor,” Sarah-Joe says again, half standing this time as the rest of the class collects their books.  “The instructions aren’t very clear.  Do we need to go to a student recording session here at school?  Are we interviewing the producer or engineer?  Or just observing?”

“You can observe whoever will let you.  If you go to the studios here, they don’t have the option to tell you to leave.” Several of the musicians in class chuckle.  They’re all probably thinking about wanting to kick Sarah Joe out if she comes to one of the sessions they are working on in the school’s studios. “I would suggest,” Professor Cunningham adds, locking eyes with Sarah-Joe, “that you do not speak to anyone during the session unless they speak to you first.  They are working.  Consider how you would feel if someone came to your job and started asking all kinds of questions that kept you from getting your job done.”

Ouch.  A few others in the class suppress giggles.  That’s a bit harsh.  Luckily, Sarah-Joe is completely oblivious to any type of subtle criticism. She also has never had a job, so she doesn’t understand what that would be like.

“Recording schedules are posted online, make sure you sign up before you show up.  They only have to allow three observers, so don’t wait until the week before the paper is due, or you won’t get into a session.

“And how long should the paper be?” Sarah-Joe asks, sitting again.  She’s scribbling notes.

“Two pages.”

“Single or double spaced?”

Professor Cunningham sighs.  “Yes.  Single or double-spaced.  I don’t care.  But if you double space it because you don’t have anything to say, I’m only going to give you half the credit.” His eyes scan the class, resting on me for a moment longer than I am comfortable with. “This isn’t a hard assignment people.  Just do it.” His eyes are on me again, and I lift my head off my hand.  “Addison, can I see you a moment please?  The rest of you are free to go.”

As the class files out of the room I stay seated at my desk.  When they’re gone, Professor Cunningham comes and leans on the desk next to mine.

“Addison.  Is everything okay?”

I nod my head.

“Are you sick?”

“No,” I hear myself answer.  The inflection in my voice sounds more like I’m asking a question than answering one.

“You seem to be struggling to stay awake.  I know that you’re not on the technology track, but this information is just as necessary for you as it is for everyone else in this class. I’d appreciate it if you’d make a little more effort to be engaged.  And not to fall asleep.”

I think for a minute.  I’m sure I stayed awake through the whole class today.  I consider arguing with him, but decide that I’m too tired.  “I’m sorry.  I work third shift twice a week.  I had to work last night.” I hate the way the excuse sounds as it comes out of my mouth.   The dog ate my homework.  I swear I did it.  I wait for the lecture that I’ve heard so many times.  School is most important.  Tell your boss you can’t work third shift anymore.  Find another job.

“That sucks,” Professor Cunningham is back at the podium, shuffling his papers.  “Any chance you can make sure those days are on the weekends?”

This was not the reaction I was expecting.  “I’ve asked, but they still schedule me during the week sometimes.  I’m sorry, I promise to do a better job of staying awake.”

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.” He zips his portfolio shut and heads to the door.  “See you Thursday.”


I’ve developed my own version of yogalates. It’s like a twist cone rather than a blended milkshake.

I start with yoga, sun salutations and some stretching, then move into the classical Pilates Mat work through saw. Then I throw in some teasers, side lying legs and finish it all off with my favorite exercise, boomerang.

Makes for a fun little workout. enjoy!


Have you seen Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead yet? I never really understood the point of juicing before watching it. I get the idea of the reboot.

So we got a juicer, and for about a week now I’ve been juicing two meals and eating one. Tomorrow will be my first day full-on juicing. I plan to take it to then end of the month and then see from there.

Tonight, I had my version of a juiced greek salad:

  • half cucumber
  • two tomatoes
  • most of a head of green leaf lettuce
  • a bunch of basil
  • half an eggplant
  • an apple

I must admit– it wasn’t wonderful tasting going down. But, the aftertaste is exactly the same as if I had eaten it. Tomatoes and basil. Yum.

What I’m Writing: Clouded #7: More responsibility

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From her office in the back of the building, Laura sees me walking out of Josh’s office and yells,  “Addie!  Can you come in here?”

I feel my face get red, embarrassed by her summons.  Her shout was heard by all of the interns and anyone with a door open on the first floor.  A quick glance at the balcony tells me that it was heard by most of the staff on the second floor too. I wish she would just send me an instant message.

“Here are the keys for the post office,” she says, handing me a ring as I walk through her door.  “You can be in charge of all of the PO boxes from now on.” She looks proud and nervous, like a parent giving their sixteen year old the keys for the first time.

I wonder if I’m allowed to question her.  I don’t have time to go to the post office while I’m here.  Besides, wouldn’t it be better if the mail was picked up every day? I decide I’ll talk to Jonathan about it later, and take the key ring out of her hand. I need to talk to him about the accounting anyway.  As he pushes off more and more work, I’m starting to feel overwhelmed.  I’m hoping that the grocery shopping is just the beginning of the work I’ll be doing with Revolver, and I want to make sure I have enough time to pick up any more little projects that might come available.

“The mail is normally in the box by 12:00.  Since you’ll only be getting it every-other day, you need to make sure you’re there while they’re putting it out so you can get back here, do whatever it is you need to do, then get to the bank before 1:00 with any deposits.”

So much for a lunch break. That’s okay, most days I eat at my desk anyway.  Now I’ll eat in the car. I am worried about the quick turn-around to get checks to the bank though.  After opening the mail, I sort checks into piles for each company, log them all in QuickBooks, then fill out the bank’s deposit paperwork.  I do each company one at a time so I don’t get anything confused, and the process usually takes me a few hours each day.  “I’m not sure I can get the deposits processed that fast,” I say to Laura.  “I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

“You’ll have to figure it out.  Seth wants the money to get to the bank the same day it comes in.”

“What about Tuesday and Thursday?”

She shrugs.  She’s obviously happy not to have to worry about this anymore.  “You’ll have to work it out.”

I try to give myself a pep talk on the way back to my desk.  Between this and the Revolver project, this could be my chance to finally make an impression on Seth.

What I’m Writing Clouded #6: Revolver Recording

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I’m staring at the large stack of bills on my desk when Josh arrives Monday morning, tossing his bag on the floor inside the door of his office before going to the kitchen.

“Addie!” he calls. I can hear him moving around in the kitchen, pulling a coffee cup out of the cupboard and rinsing it out before pouring his coffee.  He kicks the wheels of my chair, startling me. I jump.  He laughs, setting down a cup of light khaki colored liquid in front of me.

“Hey, wake up,” he says, smiling. “Did you work last night?”

“Yeah, sorry. Thanks, but I don’t like coffee,” I say, pushing the cup aside.

“If you’re going to keep up this schedule, you’re going to have to learn to like it.  Trust me.  It took me a while too, but what I’ve made you is basically cream with a dash of caffeine.  Try it.”

I take a tentative sip, trying to make sure I don’t let too much in to her mouth in case I start gagging. It’s a terrible reflex.  If I don’t like the taste of something, I can’t choke it down like a normal person.  It’s like my whole body revolts. I tried coffee before and it hadn’t turned out well.

This smells different though.  When the hot liquid hits my tongue I’m surprised by the sweetness.  With the next sip I lets a bit more into my mouth and feels the warmth spread down my throat.

“Wow.  This really is good.”

“See, I told you.  Come into my office.  I’ve got a project for you.”

I take another drink and follows Josh into his office.  He picks up his bag as he walks in, pushing a chair out of the way with his foot, then turning his body sideways to fit in the tiny space between the front of his L-shaped desk and his wall.  His office is just to the right of the reception area, a long narrow room that is actually smaller than the supply closet.  He chose it over what became the supply closet because of the window, but he keeps the shade drawn most of the time.  There is a book case just inside the office door with an old boom-box on the shelf that stays perpetually tuned to talk radio and is on all the time.  I set my coffee on the edge of the desk, grab the chair Josh had pushed out of the way and settle into it just inside the frame of the door.  The room is covered in Revolver memorabilia.  I recognize a t-shirt from their first tour.  I have the same shirt at home.  It’s too worn out to wear but too sacred to get rid of.  Josh settles himself into his chair, turns his computer on, takes an iPad out of his bag then settles back with his feet up on the metal supports of the desk.

“You like it?” he asks, indicating her coffee.

I take another drink.  “I really do. What’s in it?”

“The secret is to use flavored coffee and flavored creamer.  That way, you don’t have to add any additional sugar, but it gets nice and sweet.”

I nod.  The announcers on the radio show are distracting me.  The volume is low enough that I can’t tell what they are saying, but high enough that I can’t tune it out.

“Your radio almost gave me a heart attack the first morning I opened. When I unlocked the door the alarm started beeping, then I heard people talking.  I thought there was someone in here.”

Josh laughs.  “What’d you do?”

“Flipped on all the lights as fast as I could and ran to the alarm.  By the time I shut it off I realized it was your radio- they must have said the call letters or something, but I still felt like I had a heart attack.”

“Sorry.  It doesn’t shut off.”

I wonder if he’s kidding.  I can’t tell by his face.

“The switch is broken,” he says.  “And the plug is behind the bookcase, so I can’t unplug it very easily.  So it stays on.” A file opens on his iPad and he takes his feet down, leaning closer to me and sharing the screen.  “Here’s what I’ve got for you.  Revolver’s starting to record next week.  I need you to arrange for hotel and food for the guys for the next few weeks.”

Josh is in his late thirties, married, and had been working in the music industry for six years before he came to Clouded.  He wears ringer t-shirts and blue jeans every day. A lot of his t’s are band shirts from the early nineties, mostly groups that he has worked with.  He also has a full line of plain ringer t’s that he wears whenever he has meetings outside of the office. In the four months I interned I never saw him dressed up.  He was originally hired to book shows for the acts on Clouded’s roster, and brought Revolver, the pop- punk band that he had been booking, to Seth for management. I had been a fan Revolver since high school, and they were how I first learned about Clouded. He still does some booking, but his main roll now is managing Revolver for Seth.

The four members of Revolver live in Nashville when they aren’t touring, so they had been to the office a few times while I was interning.  Their music is loud, fast and fun, and so are they.  The three original members of the band grew up together in Seattle, bonding over their hate of grunge rock and bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam.  They had their first radio hit when they were still teenagers with a song that made fun of high school dances.  At their concerts a crowd of screaming teenagers, boys and girls alike, crowd the stage, bobbing their heads, dancing, and singing along with every word. I’m thrilled to have the chance to work with them.

“Where are they recording?” I ask, opening my notebook.

“Studio 6, same place they did their last two albums.”

“Isn’t that here in town?”


“Don’t they live here?”


“So who am I getting hotels for?”

“The guys.  They need to feel like they are “away” when they record, it helps them concentrate.”

“Okay. How many rooms?”

“Five.  Each of the guys gets his own, so does the producer.”

What a colossal waste of money.  “What about the food?” I ask.

Josh gives me a blank look.

I try again. “What do they need?”

“Everything. Make sure they have enough food for the whole two weeks.  Stock the kitchen at the studio and create a budget for meals. There should be snacks in the hotel rooms too.”

“What do they like to eat?”

“Anything.  They’re guys.”

“Okay,” I say again, trying to think of a way to get a few more details, or some more direction. “Anything else I should know?”

“Nope.  But don’t tell anyone they are recording. Especially no one at the label. And I need to see all of the invoices before they are paid.”

I nod, wanting to ask why the label doesn’t know about the recording.  Usually that’s something they would pay for.  In return, they would also be involved in every decision, from producer to song selection.  Contractually, the label has the right to steer the project in the direction they want it to go.  Most artists don’t love it, but when the label is going to invest hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars, they get over it.

Josh sees the confusion in my face.  “We’re in contract negotiations.  The guys need to record now because they’re touring this summer, so I can’t wait on the label any longer.  Plus if we get it done, we can ask for a bigger advance because they’ll already have something to work with.  If not, we can easily find it a new home and still get it out this fall.” He starts typing on his computer.  “I just sent you Sean and Simon’s phone numbers.  Talk to them about the food.  Jacob and Gavin will eat whatever.” He grabs a stack of contracts off the corner of his desk and starts flipping through them.  “Thanks,” he says, without looking up.

“Um, I’m sorry, how do you want me to pay for it?”

Josh looks up.  “You don’t have a credit card yet?”

I shake my head.  Am I supposed to have a credit card?

“Here, use mine.  You’ll have to run it as a debit card so they don’t check your ID.  And ask Seth to get you a card.”