New season, new reason
Okay - it wasn't a great Christmas. After I got home, I discovered that several packages from Amazon (which should not have arrived until early January) had arrived early. And apparently a little ... let's call them demon elf... decided to open the boxes on my front stoop and help themselves to several items including a slick little messenger bag I'd ordered for a friend and several CDs I'd ordered for my Husband.

Merry Christmas!

Airplanes!
I flew a lot - I actually traveled a lot. In 4 days I visited Chicago 3 different times and also spent a lot of quality time at the airport. I've noticed that these times of heightened security and holiday madness mix for a nice recipe for disaster or hilarity or hilarious disaster - your choice.

I don't think people know how to fly
Here's the thing - air travel is somewhat easy and somewhat affordable. However, I'd guess your average American probably doesn't fly more than a couple of times per year - tops. It's still expensive, it's a bit of a burden, and I think it's still scary for a lot of people.

I'm pretty average. I fly a couple of times a year for business and a couple of times of year for vacation and maybe a couple to visit the family. I think I fly a fair amount, more than most - but still not a lot. (I've got friends who have to fly every month for business, then do personal and vacation travel on top of that.)

But most people really don't know how to travel. They show up with huge suitcases and try to drag them onto the plane (ain't gonna fit in the overhead, sister). They carry on too many bags. They don't understand that we're all in this together and we're all just trying to get to our destination.

For example - I saw (on 2 different occasions, with 2 different people) small, styrofoam Wal-Mart (proudly emblazoned with the big logo and a $2.97 sticker) cooler used as carry-on luggage. I guess it's just the right size to hold your NASCAR t-shirt and a tall boy.

I sat in the window seat of one leg of my flight. When I was seated, people were already in the row (the aisle and the middle) and when I made my move to enter one woman stood up and moved. The other woman (middle seat) did not. She sat there and was like, "Go ahead." So she got a face full of butt. What did she think would happen? On a good day you get like 8 inches of movable space....

I cannot figure out how to buy one of those "Economy Plus" seats on United. It's the same seat as coach, it probably costs more but it's in the front of the plane. See you want to be there... If you're not there then you're in the back of the plane with 45 screaming kids and the dude who sits in the middle seat and squishes everyone but spreading his legs wide and taking up all the arm rests. Apparently his "equipment" needs plenty of breathing room, otherwise he'll expire.

My flight attendant on the last flight from Chicago to Boston was openly hostile. He didn't give our row of seats any drinks or pretzels. Look, we need those to live. I had about 10 minutes to eat in Indiana, which didn't work very well (avoid the Fox Sports Bar! - like you needed to be told) and then grabbed a quick bite to eat in Chicago. We asked for our drink and the guy winged some pretzels at us. Even Mr. Spread Eagle was a little alarmed, so he pulled his legs in (a micometer) and shook his head.

In the end, we all made it. And so, another Christmas has come and gone and frankly - I'm thinking of canceling it next year.

Not so merry

The little dog was a gift from my parents. I'd pestered them, and it seemed like a good idea. I was going through some rough teenage stuff and was happy to have the little furball.

I remember we picked up a newspaper and did a little looking at ads. For some reason we weren't getting a mutt from the pound, but a gen-u-ine purebred pooch. We thought we'd look at several puppies before choosing. But you know how that goes, the first one you see is the one you bring home.

And that's what we did. I picked the runt of a Pomeranian litter. She was very, very tiny. A little red poof that we called Jazzy. I'd read somewhere that dogs respond well to names with the "ee" sound at the end.

She slept in a tiny basket because we were worried we'd trample her. She seemed to be fond of the baskets, as over the years that's where she chose to sleep.

But time passed and she grew up - so did I. She was still a little red poof. I went to college, moved away, got married. She slept in the basket and became the close companion of my Dad.

I came home last night. She's old now. I know she's over 12. Little dogs don't live all that long (like their large-breed counterparts). She was in a basket, looking poorly. I knew. We all knew. I petted her for a while. We had a wordless talk. After a while, we all went to bed.

This morning she was in the basket. In the same spot - where she hadn't really moved for a couple of days. My parents took her to the vet while I tried to help get things ready for the big Christmas festivities of the morning. We prepared for the worst, and it came a few hours later.

Her heart was huge - pressing against her lungs and her esophagus, she couldn't breathe very well. She was dying. My parents did the right thing. Then they came home, we tried to hold it together. The grandkids were on their way....

The countdown begins

I've tried to be festive about Christmas. Every year I think, "this year won't suck." I think the kids will be cool, I'll have a good meal, the people will think my gifts are fun. You know, like that creepy Hallmark commercial where the woman thinks her party will be a big hit because of the singing snowman couple. It's like that except not as sad and sentimental.

I simply believe it will not suck. I'm usually disappointed every year - but I think this year the streak might be over.

Bad Santa

I'm not a big holiday movie fan but I've seen both "Elf" (fun, family-oriented holiday delight) and "Bad Santa" (for grown-ups only - really, really, really hilariously funny). I have to say, they're both good. If you've got to take the kids out to see something then by all means "Elf" is for you. But, if you've got an adult-age set on Christmas night and you're not sure what to do (besides watching the World Poker Tour marathon on the Travel Channel) you should see "Bad Santa."

I'm not a big Billy Bob fan, but I do enjoy the Bernie Mac and the whole thing seemed ridiculous - I was game. I was actually shocked by a couple of the scenes. I gasped in shock and laughter. At one point I think my husband actually wheezed because the laughing made it hard to breathe. It's good, mean fun.

Very mean.

Happy Holidays!

It combines my two loves...

Have you seen Celebrity Poker yet? It successfully combines my two interests - celebrities and poker. It's fascinating and every week I've been utterly surprised at who has come out on top. Really.

Rainy days and Nor'easters...

Once again, another year has passed and I marked the event by spending lots of quality time at the mall with my husband. He seemed thrilled, apparently he caught up on his reading whilst I shopped at Sephora. It was a zoo of course, it always is. But the previous weekend had meant most of New England was snowed in and so we didn't get much Holiday shopping done.

Well, that's all changed. Kinda.

We had another snowstorm this past weekend, but because it's December and not February, the bulk of the precipitation came in rain, on top of snow. It's a delightful combination.

Apparently we've got another big storm brewing for tomorrow. So what does this all mean? Clearly Mother Nature has a grudge against New England. I've only shoveled a few times and I'm already over winter (which doesn't officially start for another 5 days).

We really need to move somewhere that's warm. Sadly, we couldn't get jobs - but we'd be warm.

Don't shovel angry

Last night I had the feeling that events were really conspiring against me. It started simply enough - I was just trying to get home. I've been fighting off a flu-y/cold thingey for about 3 days so I just wanted to get home, eat a little food and zip off to sleep.

I left work and trotted down to the Green Line stop near my office. I stood around and waited, and waited, and waited. The platform was brimming with people. No trains were coming, no trains were visible down the tunnel and people were starting to get tetchy.

I hiked back up the stairs and out into the cold night air. The Red Line stop is just a few blocks away; I could easily hike it. Well, on a good night. But tonight it is 3 days after the big snow and many people still have not cleared sidewalks. I hike and hike through giant snowdrifts, across streets and avoid being mowed down by a couple of mini-vans. I head to the Red Line station.

I wait and I wait. Finally a fully packed train comes along. I can't fit on, so I wait some more. At this point, I figure - the worst is over. I might be home by 6. Sure, that's a fully 30 minutes more than it usually takes to get home, but what can you do. My head hurts, my throat is sore and I'm starting to feel hot. The next train comes along quickly, we all climb aboard and hope for the best.

We make it about two stops to Kendall Square. At Kendall we sit for a few seconds, then it becomes obvious that smoke is pouring out of part of the train. The conductor tells us the train is out of service and everyone must deboard the train. So the platform fills with hundreds of people trying to get home - at rush hour. I'm still too far from my house to hike back, maybe if the weather had been better and the roads and sidewalks less treacherous. Still - I'm so close.

We wait and wait and wait. After about 30 minutes the remaining passengers from the Smokey Train are able to push their way on board (me included) and we get moving again. I make it to Harvard Square and wait. For the bus. I wait and wait and wait. People are milling around waiting. They grumble. I wait. After another 20 or 30 minutes, a bus arrives and we all climb aboard.

I hold my breath, I'm not sure we'll make it all the way. There's a chance the bus could roll over or run down an old lady or something else horrific. I wait. Finally, I'm dumped off unceremoniously at a snowdrift that is now passing for my bus stop. I trudge through the snow, angry and frustrated and look down at the 4x6-foot drift that is the street corner where I wait for the bus. I've been narrowly missed trying to catch said bus several times that day.

I stalk home, fuming, and grab a shovel. My neighbors are fairly good about clearing the sidewalks. Well, at least they are after the first snow. If it snows again, all bets are off. But no one ever clears the crosswalks or the corners so that you could actually cross the streets. Hundreds of pedestrians (myself included) are left to walk in the street. Usually, I don't mind. But tonight, I am filled with righteous indignation. By law, the neighbors are required to clear the street corners to allow others to pass.

I fume and start shoveling. My husband tries to lure me back to the house. I refuse (loudly and with profanity). I shovel. I shovel and shovel and shovel and shovel until my shoulder aches and my back throbs. I shovel through what is now a giant snow glacier. I pound and kick and stomp to free hunks of ice. I shovel. A woman walks along and notices what I'm doing.

"Wow, that's really nice of you - no one really does this enough," she smiles.
"Yeah," I reply angrily.
"Well, thanks for doing this. Someone should buy you a coffee," she says.

I look up at her for a moment. I'm standing in a mostly clear path, having done a considerable amount of damage to the giant snow glacier/bus stop. The adrenaline and anger slowly ebb away.

"I think you're right," I say and head back to the house. I buy myself a drink.

Big Snow

Yep - we got it. The snow started around midnight on Friday and didn't really wind down until about 8 PM on Sunday. So what happens when you've got two adults and a small, smelly cat locked together in a house together for a full weekend?

Precious little really. I baked, we napped, we shoveled, I made weird food with stuff in the pantry, and we watched a lot of TV and read books. I think I've slept more this weekend than I have in the past week. It was okay.

Deeps probably shoveled more than he should have. I drank an obscene amount of hot beverages and we watched way too many hours of HGTV.

Now this was not quite as bad as the President's Day weekend 2003 Blizzard. For that blizzard we got a little over 2 feet in a very short period of time. This storm, the December blizzard (as it has been dubbed by the news) was also a big snow producer, but the wind was the biggest problem. Basically, the high winds meant that we had blizzard conditions for most of the weekend.

So today the city digs out. I try to figure out if the bus will ever arrive to take me to work and we all remember that just last weekend, the house didn't look like someone dumped 2 feet of snow on it.

In other news
The computer, she lives. And no data was lost. Huzzah!

The day the computer died

I just threw out the last of the Thanksgiving remnants; I was pulling together the holiday lists and checking off items quickly. I was on fire.

Now, not so much.

I was out with some friends last night when my husband called from home. He asked me a few weird questions about the computer. Finally, I got him to tell me what was up. Apparently, the computer has died.

Now, this is upsetting. It's not the end of the world. But then I started thinking about the computer and what could be lost. I haven't backed up anything in a couple of months.

It's all easy enough to replace except for my bookmarks and worse, my scripts. I've been working on several projects over the past year. I had just decided to chuck one thing I'd been working on and go back to review a script I'd finished over the summer. I decided I was finally ready to do the big second draft. But now... it may be gone.

I guess it hurts because it happened so suddenly. New Girl, as I've called her since I brought the might tower home, is not even a year old. She's been very stable and reliable. We haven't had any problems. We haven't had weird things happen - she doesn't make scary noises or hang up on you. She's just there, gently purring in the desk.

It's all so sudden. I hope I'll be able to recover my work. I hope New Girl comes home soon.

The only bright side to this situation is that my husband insisted on buying the 3-year supplementary service agreement. At the time I gave him a hard time, but now he's the family hero!

The Mania begins

Wow, is it the 23rd already? Jeez - I'm barely able to process what events have transpired up until now.

Regardless of how it came to be, I must still live with the consequences of my choices. Of my actions. I've been sewing.

Yes, see - it's almost Thanksgiving and... Well, that really should be explanation enough. Need more? My parents are coming to visit.

It's their first trip to Boston since we've moved here and even though they're extremely laid-back people (for Hoosiers), they're really easy going and fun-loving, and I’m getting tense. I feel the mania building. I've been fighting it off for weeks but it came to a head this weekend.

It started with a list
I had to make a little list of things to pick up from the drug store. It was simple: paper towels, tooth paste, deodorant. But then I walked through the kitchen and saw how the curtains don't coordinate (they actually clash with) the rugs, then I realized we didn't have extra chairs, then we needed actual blankets for the guest bed, and the next thing I knew I had a big Target check list. Complete with boxes to be checked.

So, husband in tow, I hit Target. (For the record, when we were waiting for a parking spot I urged my husband to be more aggressive saying, and I now quote "This is a war." )

And $227 later we returned home with bags and bags and we did laundry. Or rather, he did laundry while vacuumed the tiny wisps of spider webs from the ceilings. We laundered and laundered and laundered. I think we did 9 loads. It was spectacular. Everything is clean and smells great. Everything - curtains, table cloths, sheets, blankets we don't even use, the cat bed, everything.

We've got 3 full days until my parents land (at midnight on Wednesday) and I believe we'll be ready.

So far....
I reorganized the pantry.
I organized the guest room/home office.
I'm awaiting the delivery of my Container Store purchases so that I can get the front closet sorted.
I cleaned out my own closet.
I cleaned out the refrigerator.
I cleaned out the freezer.
I scrubbed the scuff marks off the walls.
I installed fresh Glade Plug-ins in each room of the house.
I sewed curtains.
I ordered the Thanksgiving meal.

Oh yes - while I've bananas and started sewing, I know where my skills go a little wonky. I can cook with the best of them, but cooking a complete Thanksgiving meal (and timing it right so that everything is ready at the same time) is daunting. It's not hard to cook a turkey or bake a pie. But when you've got to do it all at the same time... its possible there might be crying or swearing or worse.

So I called up the local grocery store and discovered that I could order dinner for 10 people for under $50. How great is that? Sadly, there will only be four or five us -- but still!

I called Indiana last night and confessed to my step-mother. Her reaction was as I expected, "Don't go to trouble for us." She means it. She encourages us to take short-cuts for big events like this and to remember to have fun.

And this is my holiday entertaining tip - just because you didn't cook it yourself doesn't mean that your meal or party or whatever isn't special. Remember, you cleaned your own toilet or wall or pantry and the key to a good meal is all in the presentation. And if that's ruined, get your guests drunk with tasty wine.

I'm omni-lingual

I swear this actually happened.

Sometime into the second day in Paris, I found myself deprived of sleep and completely capable of understanding what everyone around me was saying. I was on fire with my responses to French queries, I could follow some math or counting in Italian and I actually laughed at a joke in German because I understood it! I don't speak freakin' German.

I thought: Oh God, I've become Omni-Lingual! I've tapped into some amazing, sleep-deprived portion of my brain that allows me to understand everyone. It's like my own personal tower of Babel or something.

And then, just a quickly as I found it, I lost it. It was gone. So gone - gone to the point I could barely offer poulet and frites in French, a langauage I can speak witih some limited fluency.

I blame it on the rain.

Excerpts from a Travel Journal

Day 1 - Paris:
Wow. What a great day. Okay, I haven't slept in like 39 hours but I'm in freakin' France! We'll take a nap and everything will be cool. Just like an hour, 2 hours tops. We couldn't check into the hotel for a couple of hours so we wandered around. It's colder than we expected, but we had breakfast.... I used the French loo which turned out to be a nicely tiled hole in the floor. What an adventure!

Day 2 - Paris:
The nap - okay the 4 hour sleep - threw me off. It's thrown Deeps off too, but it's okay. Thank God the cleaning lady woke us up.

I'm drinking lots of Cafe au Lait to break up the day and to keep going. We walked all the way to the Seine and the Eiffel Tower and back to the hotel. We avoided many piles of dog poo. Oh those Parisians.

Day 3 - Paris:
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm an ugly American. I'm kinda getting tired of the French, with their smoking and lack of leash laws. It's a stinky day. But I'm now the proud owner of a beret!

Day 4 - Paris:
I confessed my feelings of isolation and alienation to my spouse in the wee hours of the morning as we lay awake watching horrible German television. I thought we were sharing a very close moment as a married couple. He told me that I'm the worst travel companion he's ever known.

Day 5 - Paris:
Today I saw a German tourist wearing a beret get pegged in the head with a piece of baguette while sitting on the top level of the Bateaux Mouches. The baguette was tossed by an "angry French youth". In other news, my feet really hurt.

I went to France and got VAT

Okay - look, I took a freaking vacation. I didn't cure cancer or anything. But I did see a lot of skulls. Seriously. Thousands, maybe millions.

The Paris catacombs are cool.

I also strongly recommend going to the Paris Sewer Museum. The displays are impressive - it's truly a very earnest museum. There's lots of good information, it smells pretty decent and the drippy tunnels are cool.

Travel size

You know, I love that sample size/trial size aisle. It's so good. I love to buy tiny tubes of toothpaste or shampoo. I have no idea why.

So this is what travel is all about. Last-minute trips to the drug store for something: batteries, deoderant, film.

Actually, that's what travel planning is all about. Travel itself is something different.

I'm trying to embrace French again. It's been a very long time since I practiced and spoke it on any kind of regular basis. I haven't been to French class in about a thousand years.

Still, the pate beckons and the catacombs await. Ready or not, here we come.

Trials of Dana Kitty

So we've talked our beloved friend in taking care of our place and the cat. He's graciously agreed to stay over and keep the cat and the cacti company. Sweet boy. I hope the cat remembers that we're her owners in a few weeks.

Lunch intersection

There needs to be a little electrical upgrade in the ol' office kitchenette. We have just the one microwave and it only works if no other electrical equipment in the room is in use (aside from the fridge).

We may also need some sort of means of managing the traffic flow into the tiny compartment that passes for a "kitchen". There's an amazing backlog of people trying to use the microwave each day.

Lunch usually goes something like this....
12:45 - Wander into kitchen, someone else nuking something. Decide to come back in a few minutes.

1:03 - Someone else nuking. Shouldn't be long. Decide to come back.

1:19 - Just a second. You might want to come back.

1:34 - Someone's got something in the microwave for 4 minutes, there are two more entrees stacked neatly on the counter next the microwave. The queue is now 3 entrees in total.

I think in the next 10 minutes I'll give up and go downstairs. I have a meeting 10 minutes after that.

California called

California called me last night. She's a little bummed. Her voice is tinged with regret - it's worse than the time she went on that three-day bender in Vegas.

"It seemed like such a good idea at the time," she said.

"I know - it always does," I replied. "You were in a bad situation. What could you do?"

"I know! Exactly! It's just - now I realize," she sighed. "I don't really know anything about this guy. You know... I was swept up. He had the charm and the charisma. I got sucked in by the style but now I realize there's not a lot of substance."

"So what are you going to do?"

She was resigned. "What can I do? I'm stuck with him now."

"Well," I offered. "It's only for a couple of years, right?"

"I guess..." she sighed again. "Hey did you see the Daily Show last night?"

"Absolutely. It was hilarious."

"I know! But what the hell happened to Marc Singer?"

"Only the Beastmaster can tell us."

...and then the Tiger said, well - I couldn't just eat him all at once...

So I learned the same thing that Pamie did about talking about Roy. You've got to mention the Siegfried or people look at you funny.

Also - no one knows the guy's last name, so the Reuters headline is weird.

Suddenly, winter.

I turned the heat on tonight. We returned from NJ to find the house at a balmy 60 degrees and the cat huddled in our bed. (She likes Deeps' side.)

What happened to fall? Why am I pulling out sweaters? I only wore my cute jean jacket for like 2 weeks and now I'm thinking about pulling out my winter coat - sure it's my level 1 coat, but still. Where are the warm days and pleasant evenings? It's like 40 degrees outside right now. (On the bright side, I haven't pulled up the shovel yet.) Cute jean jacket and fun scarf are not going to cut it.

Damn.

I hope Paris is warmer.

I know a thing or two about dead bodies

The following is an actual discussion that took place in our house last night.

Deeps: Is that a meat thermometer?
ME: Well - it's for the liver.
Deeps: Huh?
ME: They check the temperature of the liver to determine the time of death.
(pause)
Deeps: You really know this stuff.
ME: My favorite show is Autopsy
Deeps: I'm going to leave the room now.

Stage an Intervention

I like to make lists. Last night, during one of my many pithy discussions with Deeps (Him: What's for dinner? Are you going to empty the dishwasher? - Me: Uhm. Internet? No - I'm never going to empty the freakin' dishwasher.) we talked about things that make us feel older. You know, the behaviors and mannerisms of your parents that you have mercilessly mocked over the years. And now you realize you're starting to embody?

Below is a list of things that aren't necessarily inspired by any one person I know - it's just stuff I worry about. If you notice me demonstrating any of this behavior - please stage an intervention.

1. Waddling for a prolonged period of time.
2. Carrying around a personal fan and "cooling" myself on bus, train, car or sidewalk.
3. Carrying salad dressing in my purse to use in restaurants.
4. Really short hair that has been permed within an inch of its life.
5. Shopping on a regular basis at places like "The Walking Store" or "The Walking Spirit."

PHOTO GALLERY!
Hey, I built this damn gallery and I added the wrong link. So here's the correct link to Alyssa Boehm's personal photo gallery - photos courtesy of my sketchy digital camera! It's purty. I added some new stuff from recent trips around the New England area.

New gang in town
The Jean jackets are out in force. They're everywhere.

The working woman's uniform is updated to reflect the slight change in temperature. We still wear our smart tailored pants that hit the middle of the shoe (as we've been instructed on "What Not to Wear" - both BBC and TLC versions).

We trot around the natty streets of Boston in our New Balance sneakers while carrying our stylish, pointy toed shoes and boots in our trusty soft-sided messenger bags (Thanks "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" - that tip works for the ladies as well as the men). And now we're wearing our cute, tailored jean jackets which add a different fun texture and bit of whimsy to our look.

Yes, the Jean jackets are out.

The cautionary tale of Weiner Dogs on Huron Avenue
I used to be a pet person. I loved all the critters (except reptiles) and enjoyed visiting people who had dogs or cats. We'd play, we'd pet, it was good fun.

But, now I'm finding that other people's pets are more like other people's children. Not in the way you think. I find their pets have are poorly behaved and a little dangerous.

Just this weekend I was nearly attacked by a pair of vicious Dachshunds. Now they seem cute - they are. Who doesn't love a Weiner dog? I even thought that as the dogs approached me (with their owners in tow, on a leashes) on the sidewalk. Then they let loose with really loud barking and the pair of young Weiner dogs lunged and snapped at me.

This would have been my third Weiner attack had they been successful. I've actually been bitten by Dachshunds in the past. I still think they're cute but I find when I'm walking down the street and a dog is approaching (not necessarily a Doxie - with owner in tow, on a leash) I'm inclined to cross the street away from the dog. It's sad.

Michigan is for Lovers and France is for the French
I'm going to France in a few weeks, Paris to be exact. I've been to Paris before. But then I was a young'un with no cash and no sense. I think this time might be different.

I've picked up a few guide books and been reading through my "Rick Steve's" purchases. I enjoy the following excerpt about the notion that the French are unfriendly people:

"You've no doubt heard that Parisians are 'mean and cold and refuse to speak English.' This is an out-of-date preconception left over from the de Gaulle days. Parisians are as friendly as any other people....
(cont'd several paragraphs later)
..."Polite and formal, the French respect the fine points of culture and tradition. In France, strolling down the street wearing a big grin on your face and saying hello to strangers is a sign of senility, not friendliness (seriously)."
-Rick Steve's Paris, 2003; pgs. 6-7

We're going to Paris
It's the city of lights. I seem to recall it being so. I also recall it's the city where I slept upright, against our hotel room door because some weird guy followed us back to our hotel and lurked around. And the door to our exceptionally cheap and crappy hotel room did not lock properly. We were 18 and didn't know any better.

I was armed with only my American ingenuity and an umbrella.

I think this time will be different. If a menacing man follows me back to my hotel room there's a good chance said man is my husband. He's not really menacing, he's just figuring the exchange rates in his head.

So - if you've been to Paris lately, please feel free to send along your favorite places to visit. And if you have guide book suggestions I'm looking for a few recommendations before making further purchases.

I'm also bringing a bigger umbrella.

While you're at it - go find Don!
I'm a huge fan of the Tomato Nation site which is really all kinds of fabulous. Sars is looking for her 9/11 disaster buddy who helped her out when the WTC was destroyed. Don is the man's name and you can read more about him and how he helped Sarah.

It's pull out your Fall boots day!
I'm trying very hard to embrace Fall. I've cracked out the new boots. My boots from last year died a noble death after the 17 months of winter we had starting last September. Damn my feet hurt - but it's mighty new boot day!

It's not the State Fair - it's the Big E
Really. You can take the girl off the farm, but you can't take the farm off the girl (or something like that).

Yesterday we hit the Big E with full force and today I have state fair hangover. Too much fried food, too much horse manure and too much venison jerky. I do not regret a single moment. I

That's not totally true. I do regret the decision to eat that hamburger before we left.

That's the way of the carnie - you pays your moneys and yous takes your chances.

Come one! Come all!
Seee the newly updated Photo Gallery! You can look at pictures of stuff I've taken. The latest additions are at the bottom - see smoggy Boston, old rusty bridges and smiling babies!

September 11
I get claustrophobic on the T and jumping off a few stops early and walking in is a good way to ease my way into work.

I was just walking along – cutting through the common and then over to the public garden. I do it every day. I don’t really think about it much. I just do it, chugging along listening to music and mentally escaping a few minutes before the work day.

Yesterday was different. I hadn’t really forgotten the day. I’d seen the news earlier, watched the terrible images again. I was in Chicago when it happened. It’s different now in Boston – it’s closer.

A father and his small daughter stood next to me as we waited to cross Charles St. She was dressed up in a pretty pink dress, kicking her legs in her stroller. He stood next to me, somber – dressed in a suit. Another man joined him – they talked quietly.

As I heard them talking – I realized who the men were. They were survivors, mourners. They were members of a family left behind.

I didn’t know anyone who died on Sept. 11. I was in Chicago. My social circle was not untouched by the tragedy, but I personally did not know anyone. I guess I didn’t realize until this morning that in a lot of ways I always viewed the events as being very removed from me. I didn’t realize that I held them at arms’ length until this morning – standing next to this man and his daughter as they walked to the public garden where they would join others, mourning for their loved ones.

I looked away, quickly – I didn’t want to be eavesdropping. I trailed behind them as they made their way to the corner of the park where a dais had been erected. I realized I wasn’t alone. There were lots of bystanders, watching what was happening – drawn to the mourners, but unsure what to do. Should we say something, do something, show that we’re sorry? In the end, we did nothing. We headed off to work or the gym or school. We left them alone with their grief.

I hope that they know they are not alone in grieving.

Beware the Rodeo Clown Raggedy Andy

I had this really weird dream the other night. I was standing in a giant rodeo corral and there was an old car - like an Oldsmobile - facing me. It was filled with men dressed as Raggedy Andy. The car kept chasing me around and I was running all over the corral.

From time to time I'd get the best of the Raggedy Andy Rodeo Clown of Doom-mobile and I'd jump on the hood and hang on for dear life screaming through the window "What is wrong with you motherf*****s?"

Yes. I did use foul language in my dream. I can't be held completely responsible for my subconscious or my id.

Anyway, a couple days later I told Deeps about it.

ME: Hey did I tell you about my weird dream?
Deep: What weird dream?
ME: The one with Raggedy Andy and the Rodeo?
Deep (pausing thoughtfully, then slowly speaking): There is no good answer to that question.

Vacation disasters.... the legend continues
I think I've done something to displease the vacation gods. Somewhere along the way I've upset or maligned them in some way because every time I make non-business travel plans, very bad things happen.

1995 - Big fat blizzards: I'm trapped either at school or at home, unable to get where I need to be. Also, I lose my luggage every time I fly for the next 2 years.

1997 - Big fat drive across America: 80 miles from our destination the rear axel of Deeps' car breaks and we're trapped in Michigan City, Indiana with our cat, our belongings and our hope - packed in a U-Haul trailer. We spend the next 5 days waiting for a part to be delivered. It's the best vacation ever.

2000 - Big fat floods: I travel with Deeps (our first major vacation trip together) to the beautiful United Kingdom. We enjoy a lovely walk from King's Cross to our hotel at Kensington - which was very far away. We land in the midst of a massive security alert and London is nearly at a stand-still. The next day it's nice, the day after - it starts raining and rains every day. Also, the tube stop near our hotel is constantly out of service and we have to hike up from Gloucester Road every time we come back. Now rainy weather isn't unsual. When we arrived, the north country was flooding. By the time we leave, London is already starting to flood.

2003 - Big Fat Waste: We plan a relaxing 4 day weekend at a spa/inn in the Berkshires. We agree to leave all annoyances behind, to enjoy the beauty of the area and indulge ourselves in some serious spa treatments. Instead, hours after arriving we find ourselves stranded after a key breaks off in the ignition of the car. We spend an extra day - we miss most of our spa appointments, we eat crap food and have to rent a car to get home. (picking up our own car days later).

2003 - Big Apple Blackout: We're supposed to leave tomorrow. At the time we planned the trip, it seemed simple enough - drive down, spend a few days in a swanky hotel (which I found at Cheaprooms.com for a song) and take in some of the museums, enjoy some great food and just chill. Maybe we'll go tomorrow - perhaps there will be power by then. The real question is - if there's power, will any of the food still be edible? I know it's going to be a hot weekend. I'm just hoping it won't be a really hot, sad weekend.

By the way
We were supposed to go to Paris this month - you know the City of lights, heatwaves, death and despair? We'd planned on going to Paris at the end of August. But my sister Jill is getting married, so we opted to postpone. I still think we'll go, I just need to wait until things aren't burning, flaming, or overly sweaty. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Big Wet Dog

Boston sorta stinks. Actually we all stink now. We've had this "Tropical Depression" thingey for a while. We had it for a week, then it went away for a few days, then it came back. According to the Weather Channel it's going to hang around for another 4 or 5 days.

So - we all have hair plastered to our heads, every woman I know is having the worst hair day of her life (for weeks at a time) and in general the city smells like a wet dog.

On the bright side - we're not suffering like those poor bastards in Europe. Talk about a stinky place - 105 in Paris? Probably not so nice.

My fair city

I've been trying to warm up to Boston - really. I've been trying.

I like the Public Garden. It's really pretty. I don't get the whole Swan Boat thing - but you know, we had weird stuff for the tourists in Chicago, so I can relate.

And there's the other weirdness. Like the man who kept throwing small pieces of bread at me yesterday. He just was throwing it at me (it usually hit me in the back of the leg). Honestly, I didn't even know how to deal with the situation. I was confused about why so many birds were hovering about and buzzing my head. Should I just do my "Sir!" thing and tell him to take a hike?

I avoided confrontation - as I was about to take action, Deeps arrived.

The Train
Lots of people ride the El in Chicago. I don't really know anyone who rides the bus. So color me shocked to discover that people on the train are more horribly behaved than those on the bus. For example, I thought everyone understood that you get onto the train, and you move along so that other people can also get on the train. Every day someone - dozens of someones - violate this basic rule of public transportation. Then they act all surprised and offended that you might want to get past them or around them on the freakin' train.

Luckily - I learned how to deal with these people in Chicago. I pull out the trusty elbow and wield my messenger bag like a weapon. It's kinda fun. I've been thwapping people all week. Except the really gassy guy. He stood way too close and was way too gassy - there's no fighting it. Just hop off at the next stop. It's what your Mom would tell you to do.

Get your 4th on

It was the big 4th of July holiday here - and in Boston, the people take it very seriously. I like to think the reasons they take it seriously are obvious. I'm not convinced. I think that it's an excuse for us to blow things up. Which is fine - and probably somewhat patriotic given the activities of our revolutionary forefathers.

I did see a brief re-enactment of some battle near Harvard Square on Friday. I saw a canvas tent erected with several men in "Minuteman" gear and a smoking cannon. I think a woman and her kid (in non-"Minuteman" regalia) were standing near, watching. They might have been waiting for the bus.

For all those who wish to see and be seen - there is the Esplanade along the Charles which is packed with people and coolers and explosives. We chose to not be seen or to see. We were encamped at the house where we hid behind heavy curtains and enjoyed the benefits of our many freedoms. Primarily we played poker and reminded ourselves that we are very clever people for insisting on renting an apartment with Central Air.

Poker for the people
Poker is a game with which I've had a long and thoughtful relationship. As a kid we played cards a lot because it was a cheap way to entertain us. Plus we built up our math skill (however, after we hit 10 we just start naming face cards).

Sure I played Crazy 8s and Go Fish. But once I was like 9 or 10, Poker was a game that I could get adults to play with us for hours. I was horrible and laughed and talked too much. But I had good times.

I stopped playing for a while in my teen years and re-discovered it briefly in college. But like many other games - primarily Trivial Pursuit - after one night of Poker most people weren't eager to sign up for another.

So I stopped playing. I didn't really miss it much. Then I started watching it on TV.

About a year ago Deeps flipped on a Poker tournament on ESPN (or quite possibly ESPN 2). I got sucked in to the weird drama of the whole thing. It's oddly compelling to watch grown men (and sometimes women) sit around and figure out if their neighbor is lying. It's all so civilized too!

Anyway - months pass and sometimes I'd catch it on TV late at night. Last week I suggested to my spouse that we play a few hands. He jumped at the chance. And we've been playing daily for about a week.

Deeps suggested that we might use it to solve arguments. I'll admit I strongly considered playing a hand of Texas Hold'em to see who had to load the dishwasher.

HOT Stuff

Our 3 day heat wave is nearly over. I have to say - I've heard nice things about Boston in the Spring and Fall. So far all I've really experienced is Winter and Summer. It was hot one day when we arrived. Then Winter started. Sunday I was wearing a sweater (I think of that as the day Winter ended) - and today it's about 4000 degrees.

People assure me that this is not normal. I don't believe them.

Famous People
I'm taking this screenwriting class which is very interesting. I'm learning a lot, having a good time and meeting some interesting people. In particular I've enjoyed the budding friendship that I've been developing with people after class when we head to a local bar (preferably a dive bar) and drink and talk. Sadly, there aren't enough women in the class - so if you're a single woman looking to meet men, this class is a good one to sign up for.

Anyway - our teacher and friend, Andrew, has a new movie out called On_Line. It will be in Boston later in the summer but it's out in LA and NYC. Salon wrote an interesting review of the film. I'd call it a positive review. If you see it playing at your local movieplex, you should check it out.

With a friend like Harry

I didn't think it would be so difficult to pop in to a bookstore and pick up a copy of the new Harry Potter book. I was so wrong. By the time I arrived at a gigantic Barnes and Nobel early on Saturday afternoon they were sold out. After further investigation I found out that the books had sold out about an hour after they went on sale. I missed the sell-out window by at least 12 hours.

The story was the same at a couple of other places I went to over the weekend. It was a good weekend for running errands in Boston. That's the polite translation for "it's raining so hard we might want to build an arc". So - I did what any self-respecting, urban woman would do. I decided to spend my few "disposable" dollars at the MAC counter. I'm as happy as a little girl dressed up like a wizard.

Why Harry?
I thought it was a good way to get my niece and nephew into reading. I wanted to encourage them. So I read the books over the course of like - 3 weeks - sometime before the first movie came out. I thought we could see the movie together and then read the books and talk about them. I was trying to be the hip auntie.

Turns out that small children in my family aren't really interested in reading books about wizards. They are more interested in watching cartoons - the Powerpuff girls, which are cool - and in their Gameboy. So - my big plan didn't really work. But the books are a quick read and now they children are getting more interested in the books and seem less intimidated by them. I figured I'd give it a shot. Looks like I'll be waiting another week for Amazon to deliver my HP book.

Until then - I can console myself with really glossy lipsticks and shiny mascara.

Oh I remember, I remember don't worry
Good god - I remember when I thought I was going to write once a day - maybe more!

Now if I write once a month - I'm damn fortunate. Anyway - I've been busy doing other things like the big Indian wedding and nearly running over Stephen Colbert of Comedy Central's The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

It all started...
A few weeks ago - as the haze of the Indian wing-ding wore off, Deeps mentioned that Colbert would be in town performing Wigfield - a play adapted from the book he wrote with Amy Sedaris and Paul Dinello (of Strangers with Candy fame). I hopped on the ol' Internet and found the info. After multiple handling fees and a few days later - I had the tickets to the show in my hot little hands.

Flash forward a few weeks. We're eating some really questionable food at an "Italian" eatery in Summerteeth and I'm wondering aloud why so many Italian restaurants have pictures of Frank Sinatra displayed on their walls when we realize that the show is like 20 minutes from starting. We flag the slow waitress and high-tail it to the theater.

We reek of garlic breath - really, I needed a Smint in a bad way. I could smell myself. Anyway, I was thinking - well it's not like Stephen Colbert is going to be hobnobbing with the crowd in the lobby. Of course - cue lobby entrance. We waltz in all stinky and garlicky - the crowd parts like the Red Sea and there stands Colbert chatting not 8 feet from us.

Me: Dammit - we can't talk to him now.
Deeps: Why not?
Me: We reek of crappy garlic.
Deeps: (sniffing) Yep - we do smell.
Me: Those bastards didn't even use real garlic on the freakin' garlic bread. They used GARLIC SALT!
Deeps: Settle down...
ME: NOW I'LL NEVER GET TO TELL STEPHEN COLBERT HOW MUCH I LOVE "EVEN STEPH/V/EN"
Deeps: You need to go to your quiet space now...

I buy some Junior Mints - fighting past some pale woman who can't decide what she wants. I inhale about half a box and turn to smile. Colbert has gone back stage and I'm left with my husband who smells like garlic and is judging me harshly for my bad behavior (in public).

Deeps: What were you going to say to him?
ME: I dunno - that we're big fans. ... that I love him.
Deeps: He's not even your favorite.
ME: I know - but I enjoy him very much.
Deeps: You don't even watch the show every night - you're usually asleep when it comes on.
ME: Not always... sometimes I go to bed later...
Deeps: You're like 63 years old and you go to bed at 9:30
ME: Now you're just being mean.
Deeps: I'm not lying - am I?

The Show
Blah - blah - the show was good. There were some hilarious moments - but there were some slow spots. Deeps referred to the slow spots as "Amy Sedaris" - I can't disagree. About 40 minutes into the show - Paul Dinello starts cracking wise about these women in the front row who keep getting up and leaving. They had been escorted into the theater earlier - before the show - and had the privilege of sitting in the first row. Then they kept getting up like 4th graders looking for their Ritalin dose. It's a 90 minute show people - please feel free to pee before you go in.

I digress.

Dinello cracks wise after like the 9th time they get up. Some chump in the audience - a man that many in our row called "Bastard" afterward - starts heckling Dinello. I was stunned - as was Dinello. I was stunned because I figured if people were shelling out almost $40 a ticket to see a show with Amy Sedaris and Paul Dinello and Stephen Colbert - they are probably fans of at least one, if not all, of their work(s). Why heckle? I suspect the guy thought he was at home and he could stick his hand down his pants and yell at the TV.

Colbert came out after Dinello left the stage - Dinello didn't get in the pithy comeback I was hoping he'd have for "The Bastard". But Colbert was ready, but nary a peep came from the audience. Flash forward to minutes before the end of the show when Dinello makes his last on-stage appearance. He remarks to the man, directly - takes a shot, then basks in the roar of the audience's approval. Take that heckling Bastard.

After the play we headed to a local dive for some type of desserty type thing since we still reeked of fake garlic and dinner kinda sucked. We had cake at this total dive - the cake was good and the ambience was suitably cheesey. We talked about staying, about wandering, but we decided to head back to the homestead. As we pulled the car around, Deeps started to turn but then some dudes jaywalked in front of us and I was all... "Wait! It's them!"

Paul Dinello and Stephen Colbert and the piano player were trotting over to the dive we'd just left seconds earlier. Deeps nearly ran them over - Colbert gave us a look like, "Don't run me down."

And so that was our brush with fame. We debated going back - but neither of us had anything clever to say to Dinello or Colbert. Maybe next time I should try to fall back on my old J-school skills and think of good questions to ask. Mostly I wanted to say "We liked your show - but why'd you give Sedaris all the crappy parts?"

Why I can't be President (of a fictional America on a television show called 24)...

I was watching 24 the other night. Or rather, Deeps was watching 24 and I was like... kinda watching for like 10 minutes. He is a fan, I don't really watch it.

Regardless, the President has been set-up and essentially a peaceful coup has erupted pitting the President against the VP in a struggle for control of the country. The President has lost and the VP is in charge. Meanwhile, the hot CTU guy finds out that the President's ex-wife may be part of the big conspiracy to cause trouble.

The following exchanges is an acutal exchange that took place in the first 10 minutes of 24.

Me: He is not handing over that keycard is he? He's the president!
Deeps: ... huh? He has to.
Me: I would eat it. That would have been the first thing I'd do if I was the president and the coup d'etat'd me like that.
Deeps: You'd eat the launch codes?
Me: Yep, they don't need the bomb.

Minutes pass - the first lady is acting crazy and making threats.
Me: Why doesn't he just shoot her?
Deeps: ...
Me: She's just crazy. Shoot her in the leg or something.
Deeps: Wait. Let me get this straight, if you were the President on 24 you'd eat the launch codes and have the First Lady shot in the leg because she's acting crazy.
Me: Yes.
Deeps: That's why you'll never be President.
Me: Pretty much... I gotta go now. I hear the chip in my butt starting to beep.

Time keeps on ticking

I was just minding my own business - reading some Yahoo headlines - when I clicked on a story about the X2 opening weekend.

Then my world changed... (dramatic music rises) forever.

According to the head of Fox distribution - and more specifically his quote in paragraph ten of the story - I am an older American.

Who knew?

I sure as hell didn't.

I'm forced to rise to defend myself again. I am not old. I'm just older.

Now that's a weird term because I use it to describe my parents who are in their 50s. I don't use it to describe myself. I like to think of myself as - well, as recently out of college. Well, not too recently but recently enough that I had Internet access in my dorm.

Jeesh.

I'm getting older. I hardly knew ye - late 20s. Now is the burgeoning spring of my middle age. Yes. I said it. I have to buy acne cream and wrinkle cream at the same time.

It's a good time to be alive.

And the movie?

It was okay. Enjoyable.

And while I might be aging, I am aging somewhat gracefully. I cannot say the same for Famke Janssen. I think she needs to moisturize more. I was staring at her on the screen and she is starring opposite of the very short and very young James Marsden. She looks like she's going to pick him up, throw him in the back of her mini-van and drop him off at soccer camp.

That's not to say that she looks old. She just looks very much like a lovely woman in her late 30s - which is what she is. Marsden looks like this summer he's going to sleep-away camp for the first time. (Seriously, according to IMDB he has been credited as "Jimmy" on some occasions.)

On the bright side, they don't do much in this movie so it isn't too distracting. Hugh Jackman has very long legs. Compared to everyone else - Halle Berry seems very, very small.

Otherwise, it's a good popcorn flick. Lots of stuff gets "blowed up" and the Boehm body count requirement for a summer action flick seems to get met. Don't ask too many questions and just enjoy yourself.

Put up

Sometimes you’ve got to put up or shut up. I figured it was time to do one or the other about one my personal fantasies.

I guess it was about five years ago that I really first voiced the idea.

Cue the squiggly lines of a flashback…
I was interviewing Ira Glass for a story about This American Life for the Chicago Tribune. The interview was really good – Ira talked really openly about his vision for the show, about how radio works, about the nature of storytelling and about lying.

In a lot of ways I was lying myself – but was brutally honest about one thing... I'll get to that in a moment.

To paraphrase, I asked him how he envisioned a story. He gave me a weird look.

Vision – that which is viewed by the eye – has less to do with the stories he makes on the radio. He heard everything. He evokes responses with words and sounds.

I got it, I thought.

He’s a journalist – after an hour or so, he turned the tables on me. He asked me how I envision my stories – my articles. I told him I see them. Like tracking shots and slow-motion and close, tight shots on people’s eyes and mouths. He looked at me and said, “Sounds like you make movies.”

I didn’t, but when he said that – I thought… “Yeah, maybe I do make movies.” Except they live in my head and no one sees them.

So, flash forward a few years. I’ve landed a pretty sweet gig where I’m pulling down some Internet money. (Remember those days?) Anyway, I start thinking maybe I should go to film school – but that takes money. I start socking away cash. Nothing major – I throw it into an account, do a little investing and hope that in 4 or 5 years I’ll have enough dough saved up to finance a trip to film school.

Then comes April, 2000 – the bad month when the bubble starts to burst. Of course, we didn’t really know that at the time. I knew I was on shaky ground. But if I got out when the panic was happening I’d lose my ass.

I played it Hoosier and decided to ride it out. That’s what we do, we buy and we hold. In the end, I barely managed to hold on to about $700. By the time I cashed out I did it out of desperation because I’d lost my job and needed to pay the rent.

I had to start over, and then I started reconsidering film school. Not because I didn’t think I could do it – I just couldn’t see how I could afford to do it. I started kicking around another idea like taking a few screenwriting classes.

In March of 2003 I saw a brochure for classes in Cambridge – nothing fancy, but for a few bucks I could figure out if this is something I’m interested in doing. I found a class, filled out a form and cracked out my Visa – so now the experiment begins…

Or rather – it began about three weeks ago.

The screenwriting class is interesting. I find my peers fascinating – they represent a great cross-section of my new city. The first night I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was surprised to hear that so many people talking about completed first drafts.

They had completed first drafts and I barely had an idea in my head.

Its three weeks later and I have ideas now. Or rather – I’m honing an idea. And I have about 20 pages complete. I may never get to page 21. I may never see these meager pages go anywhere other than to a file at the back of a desk drawer – but I am trying. I figure that counts for something.

More importantly, I’m doing something creative again. Sometimes I forget that I started life as a creative person. And I enjoy creating something that doesn’t involve spreadsheets or Gant charts or project plans. The class helps to keep me focused. I have to be disciplined to move ahead. I have writing tasks. I have a goal.

I am falling back into familiar rhythms and patterns that I thought had been long forgotten. It’s like riding a bike I guess. Except that now I’m at the top of a big hill on a warm summer day and the wind is to my back.

My big FAT Indian wedding
Come on – you knew it was coming…

God, I’ve been trying to avoid it, but I can avoid it no longer. Luckily, I’m a passive participant and have played absolutely no role in the planning whatsoever. So – that means if you go to the wedding (you probably won’t) and hate it, don’t complain to me. And don’t ask to see pictures.

The in-laws insist on throwing the big shindig and Dr. Laser is going along, so I’m going along for the ride too.

However…
I didn’t know that going along for the ride would mean that I would have random women at Indian sari shops shouting at me or about me to others – because I’m a giant by comparison. Apparently, I have huge feet, huge wrists and a giant chest which cannot possibly fit into anything ever made for an Indian woman…. Whatever. All I know is that everyone seemed to think it was perfectly normal and acceptable to constantly comment on my size, weight and stature. That is, everyone except me. This never happens to me at Bloomingdale’s.

Death and …
It’s tax time which means that we have to sit down and file a return. Okay, this means I have to sit down and file the return spending lots of quality time with software and answering questions. I can only assume that I have all the information I need to do the job properly.

Of course, Dr. Laser informs me that I don’t have x, y and z – even though I asked before I started my 3 hour tour of our taxes. I had a neat little folder with “tax documents” clearly labeled – I thought it would help. It did not.

On the bright side, I don’t think we’re going to owe a lot of money for once, which is a nice change considering we’re married, have no kids and own no property – which is like the bad tax juju trifecta.

I had a cold
To quote Steve Carrell, I’ve had a cold. It was bad. It took a while to recover.

Oh yeah, and I had a massive product launch that required lots of extra work.

Snow Day
We had a big storm which was bizarre and amazing. Now, I’ve spent most of my life in and around the mid-west where we don’t necessarily get a lot of snow but we get the bitter cold. But the big snow isn’t totally unusual – and I’m a power shoveler. Who knew how much I could shovel?

Deeps and I dug out of the house, trotted down the street whistling “Hi Ho” and shoveled out the Subaru. It took well over an hour.

More snow is coming this weekend. Well, snow if we’re lucky. If we’re not lucky, it’s rain and ice and sleet. Oh my!

No Snow Day for you!
I actually work at home several days a week, so I didn’t really have a snow day. People were kind enough to not call me too many times and I did go shovel until my shoulders ached. But in the end, I still worked and built mammoth spread sheets and answered emails.

On the bright side, when you work from home you can wear your lovely pony-tail to the side hairdo and clothes that are not clean and do not match. You really don’t need to wear pants.

Netflix
But what’s a blizzard without movies. I finally caved and joined the ranks of tens of other Americans and joined Netflix. You thought I was going to say I bought Duck Tape. Well, I didn’t. If another attack happens I have a can of corn and 2 double A batteries. I’m going out fighting.

Anyway, Neflix is interesting. I like anything that is brought directly to my house. Sadly, one of the first 3 movies I ordered was lost in the mail. Ironically, it’s a movie I’ve seen half of like 5 times. It’s always on really late at night on TCM and I fall asleep before I get to the end. Curse of the Demon– they ain’t lying.

It should arrive by tomorrow. We shall see.