The HB Files

Cooler wind

2006-08-20T11:37:00.000-04:00

Every February, I ask myself why I still live in the frozen wasteland that is New England in winter. It's cold. Numbing, blustery, scarf-wrapped-around-your-face cold. Grey sky and grey snow, it is completely colorless for weeks on end. It sucks away all warmth, and a glimpse of the sun becomes a joyous occasion.

It goes that way every year; until the ice begins to melt and it starts to rain. It rains and rains until suddenly, one day in mid-June, the sun comes out and the thermometer registers 92 degrees. It's summer.

So the seasons go, here in the Northeast.

But it's worth it, for fall. Since I moved to New England six years ago, September to December have become my favorite months. The crisp, cool, sweater-days, the Saturday afternoons spent baking apple pies, and walking through town with a camera catching moments of golden sun on fiery red maple leaves. Everything smells clean, and everyone heads out to pick apples, carve pumpkins and walk paths that wind up into the confetti-colored hills.

It's coming soon, I can feel it. The flowers dry up and litter the grass with fallen petals and browning leaves. The mornings start cooler and less humidly stifling. The first "V's" of geese are passing overhead, perfectly aligned and stretching across the sky like two giant, graceful wings on a single bird. They know the summer's waning, and they're on to warmer skies.

There are a few more beach weekends left, a few more sundress days and iced-tea-on-the-porch evenings. But the date of the Keene Pumkin Festival is on my calendar, and our plans for Thanksgiving travel are made. I've just about had my fill of the smokey sweet charred flavor of the outdoor grill, and recipes for stews and soups catch my eye. I'm ready for something different.

And a cooler wind is blowing...

Finding Breakfast

2006-08-13T10:18:00.000-04:00

There's something so satisfying about waking up on a Saturday morning and deciding to go out for breakfast. When I'm not fully awake yet, ambling down to a little restaurant in town and browsing a menu of eggs, omlettes, pancakes and waffles with berry toppings is just the right amount of decadant.

WHERE TO EAT

A good breakast place is crucial. Since we just moved to Salem, Mass. recently, we've slowly been exploring the options. Nick's Firehouse Coffee Shop is the closest - just across the street and behind a row ofoffices on Church Street. It's low key and basic - a good, quick, diner-style meal. But the waitress is brusque and all-business, and yesterday morning I was craving something a little more relaxing.

We strolled by the famed Red's Sandwich Shop on Central Street, only to stand outside and watch as the line for seats wound into the restaurant and all the way through to the back. We were too hungry to wait. A good option for next time, when we wake up earlier. They must either have amazing food, or they advertise in the tourist guides. Only one way to find out.

On to Z Crepe Cafe on Essex Street, a short block or two away, with hopes that they would have breakfast crepes full of eggs and cheese and bacon. No such luck - they're only open for lunch (but do have a liquor license). Mental note to come back later in the day. I was in love with the little crepe shop in Boston's Beacon Hill, and imagine this could be a welcome replacement.

Finally, we ended up at Fountain Place. An inoccuous name for a restaurant, taken from the outside street corner's main feature.

TO GRANDMOTHER'S HOUSE WE GO

We peeked in through the wide windows. On that gentle summer morning, I found myself wishing those windows opened out onto the bustling street. With a tug on the door, we stepped up and into the main dining room.

Inside, the wooden ceiling beams that once may have framed a rustic, cozy space are currently hidden under a thick coat of light teal wall paint. The beige walls could use a fresh coat of paint and the dropped office-style ceiling add little to the ambiance. Standard mall-poster-store prints hang limply on the walls. The space has a lot of possibility and a prime location on one of the busiest pedestrian corners in town. It's a little disappointing that it's not living up to it's cute-ness potential.

GET IN MY BELLY!

However, we came here mostly for the food, which didn't disappoint. The coffee came quick and hot - basic diner coffee, and the caffiene did the trick and pulled me out of my sleepy state. Our waitress was attentive and helpful, with a friendly pat on the shoulder to let us know our food would be ready soon. She easily worked from table to table, chatting and laughing with some of the regulars. It's the kind of place you can imagine wouldn't take long before they knew your name and your "usual" meal.

The food was delicious - basic homestyle. My two eggs, overeasy, were perfect - not runny nor overly salty. The homefries were tender, with onions, garlic and paprika for a evenly balanced, savory flavor. The bacon was the ideal balance of crispy and chewy. Yum. M's addition of three slices of french toast were worth more than a couple stolen bites from my side of the table. They were moist and slightly crisy on the outside, with a hint of vanilla in the batter for a fragrant, slightly sweet taste. Later in the afternoon, a friend also recommended we go back for the chocolate peanut butter pancakes, which are apparently well worth the diet guilt.

All in all, a really good basic breakfast for a super reasonable price. Our total meal came to $10 and change. And for a friendly welcome and a convenient location in the middle of downtown Salem, it's well worth a stop in.

Review of the Accomodations in Whitehall, NY

2006-08-08T20:32:00.000-04:00

"We're getting another room."

"Why?"

I stopped scanning the dim walls and set my bag down. No answer came from the bathroom. I wandered over, tip toeing as if the floor might seep up through my shoes and infect my feet. The place just felt dirty.

I hovered at the doorway.

"The bathroom's not up to par," he spat.

"What do you mea..."

The dismissive indian man at the front desk had missed a lesson in customer service.

"It is brown? Ah yes, just our chemicals. To keep it from clogging. Just flush it. It is fine. It is fine."

I glared at the metal chains hanging around his sweaty neck, and enjoyed the mental image of grabbing onto one of those shiney silver fuckers and pulling him across the counter.

UM. Maybe YOU should flush it.

And so the Budget Inn in Whitehall, NY (smack in the center of nothingness) welcomed us to hell for the weekend. Not the burning in eternal flames kind of hell, but more the god-don't-touch-anything, stained mattress, stale smoke smell, dead bugs in the windowsill, flush your own shit-looking chemical in the toilet hell.

I didn't sleep much. Everything itched.

*************

It was our annual family reunion weekend. No one pushed my uncle off the side of the pontoon boat into Schroon Lake, even though he made the reservations at the Budget Inn. ("It's not like I've ever stayed there! ha ha ha...") But I thought about it more than once.

We won some at the horse races, and teased my mom about gamblers anonymous. We drove forever to get everywhere, and M and I agreed that we could never live in middle-of nowhere farm country, even if the mountains and the rolling hills of grain were beautiful.

********************

We switched motel rooms twice. The first time wasn't because of the shit in the toilet, but because we couldn't flush it. The flusher didn't work.

Our second room flushed okay, but it had a hole in the wall. There was an air conditioner filling most of the hole. Just not all of it.

"What keeps the bugs from coming in?" I asked. M didn't need to answer, we just picked up our bags again and headed to the office.

We finally ended up in a smokey-scented room two doors down from my parents. I got half of the price taken off of our bill, which we had prepaid - ya know, in case we ran out in the middle of the night without paying. Wonder if they get much of that...?

Take me back to the 80's

2006-07-22T16:14:00.000-04:00

I just saw one of these in a comic book store. I think I need to go back and get once for my desk at work. Watch out! I might just bring on the lightning if you put one more deadline on my desk...

Beef Cakes

2006-07-22T10:36:00.000-04:00

I am addicted to On Demand. I love the little scrolling menus that show exactly what I'm watching at any moment. How long it's on for. What the plot is. And the MOVIES. Free movies, anytime. Pages of pay-per-view movies, as if I were standing in a mom-and-pop video store without taking my butt off the couch. The fact that I actually understand the complicated remote. Reruns of BBC America shows, when the only thing on american TV is bad reality shows. Watching anything that has been on TV, anytime I want. Oh, the power.

But yesterday, I found something new to love about On Demand.

Remember way back when, when single people read through the Sunday classifieds looking for a potential mate? Or went to a service that interviewed them and other singles and used their ""expertise" to match them up? Back before the catalog shopping of Match. (I'm not knocking it. I found my man on a similar site. Gotta love the internet.) But back in the infancy of dating intermediaries there was...

The dating video.

Ah, the video. Want to see what your potential paramour looks like? Big boobs? Overly hairy? Bad teeth? Hear their voice? Too high? Too deep?

And, oh, the questions... "My ideal date would be..." "My best feature is..." "My hobbies are..." "Would I have sex on the first date? well..."

Just like The Dating Game. Real people, on camera. Compared in our minds to the actors and actresses we're used to seeing, which they definitely aren't.

Well now, you can get dating videos anytime you want. With Dating On Demand. Yep, that's right. Right from the comfort of your own couch, you can search through catagories like "Naughty," "Girl Next Door," and "Beef Cakes." Last night, I watched a woman whose name I could only expect to be "Olga" talk about the nice, gentle man she'd like to have in her life, and how much she loves her giant vibrator. I'm hooked.

To check out the college cheerleader/hairdresser who dreams of being an actress, or the wealthy travelling CEO with the muddy accent, flip over to the "Life and Home" menu On Demand. It's better than any of the free movies.

One is silver and the other is gold.

2006-07-16T10:16:00.000-04:00

We had our housewarming party last night, after two months of settling in. This meant a day and a half of shopping, cleaning, decorating, hanging a few remaining prints on the walls, cooking and preparing. The apartment's never looked so good. And by the time people arrived, much of the food was ready. Ah, success. I always forget what it means to host a party, until I'm in the middle of it, refilling empty platters with more food and getting drinks for empty glasses. All the while paying attention to the friend or two who's wandered into the kitchen to chat. But I love it.

Of 15 or so people here last night, everyone knew at least one other person, and met at least 3 or 4 new people. A good mix. And just like our holiday party last year, we heard several times, "your friends are so nice!" It' a great feeling bringing together a group of people who really enjoy each other's company.

There are days that I feel lonely for friends. Days when I mourn friendships that have lapsed - people who were once a close part of my life, and who I now keep tabs on through more distant connections. Days that the distance feels too far, and the hectic pace of life gets in the way. I've felt this a lot recently.

But last night was a lovely reunion, of sorts. Everyone who showed up (except Paula and Chris, who recruited us to join them in Salem, and Jen who we recruited to move here as well) drove at least 45 minutes to get to us. People came in from Boston and New Hampshire. They came for an evening and to catch up, and see our new home. It reminded me that, despite distance and busy lives, we're very lucky to know a group of wonderful, thoughtful, fun people.

On the menu:

Sangria (first time we've made it. yum. so easy. so summery. so good.)
Quiches (plain, mushroom and ham)
Cucumber & salmon hors d'ouvres
Pita chips with hummus and olives
Baguette with goat cheese and green apple
Chocolate-covered strawberries (a crowd favorite)

We had WAY too much food. I'll be eating quiche all week. (not the best for the diet. Have you ever made quiche? Hello, cream. cheese. and eggs. that's about it.)

So this morning was the clean-up. Thank god for dishwashers... and bleach, for all the sangria stains on the white countertop. Oh and did I mention the white carpets? and white walls? good god, a bad place for red wine. Good thing no one got too tipsy last night.

After a cup of coffee and some left over quiche for breakfast (ha), I'm heading to the pool to relax. And maybe start thinking about our next party... Halloween in Salem, anyone?

P.S. Title call-out. Anyone else have this tune burned into their childhood memories?

The Witch City

2006-06-11T22:10:00.000-04:00

Teriyaki grilled shrimp over couscous with scallions, dried cranberries and pine nuts. With grilled corn on the cob and a tomato, mozzerella and basil salad. Yummm. I LOVE the public gas grills at our complex. In addition to quick, delicious, smokey dinners, the grill also is a great talking point for meeting new neighbors. Tonight we met a lovely couple who live two buildings over. They shared space on their grill, full of chicken kebabs and hamburgers, and chatted about what it's like living here, and Salem in general.

Salem is a quirky little town. The more I get to know it, the more I like it. It is an historic fishing town, anchored by huge sea vessel and wharfs that were the economic heart of the town decades ago. It is a place in the history books - the witch city - for the few short years that the townspeople were swept into hysterics and hung innocent people. There's no escaping that - it's on every street corner with the Witch House, the wiitch museums, psychics, ghost stories... you name it. It's also a growing (if small) city with fantastic restaurants and bars full of character. There's the great indian restaurant on Washington. The cool, funky lounge Strega with fabulous martinis and dim red lighting. There's the rumored bar on the water - a small floating restaurant with it's own shuttle from the main dock in town. We haven't been there yet, but we've been talking about it for weeks.

Friday night we went out with friends - the boys to their bars and us ladies to the Mexican place for margaritas. Until the band started playing. They were fantastic, but way too loud for the small room. We moved to the Thai place for fancy, coconut-y cocktails and then on to the Irish pub for a pint. The next morning, when the alarm went off at 8 a.m. and the dentist was waiting, my pounding head and queasy stomach reminded me that my body isn't 22 years old anymore. When did that happen?

Luxury

2006-05-28T20:45:00.000-04:00

The pool. Meeting place for loud, splashing children... their parents...and the rest of us who really just want to lay in the sun and take a dip in less insanity, and a little quiet relaxation. Despite the energetic kids of all ages, screaming and splashing, it's ridiculous to complain about the pool. It's a pool! Two minutes walk from our front door. And it's attached to a small spa - bubbles and all. This is the lap of luxury unlike I've ever lived in.

From the first house I remember living in with my mom and dad - the one they built together, long before the divorce - to the house I grew up in and remember so clearly from the first day we walked through the kitchen before mom even bought it (just after the divorce) until the day I drove away with my aging Tempo packed to the gills with my belongings... none of those homes could be confused with luxury. Comfortable, and very homey. Yes. Full of memories. yes. But not an ounce of luxury.

Not even in the many apartments I lived in through college and into my Boston years afterward. Even the last one, in the historic, old-money Beacon Hill area, was a closet-sized (cute with a bit of exposed brick in the kitchen, but) unluxurious place to hang my hat.

This place, though, I'm never going to want to leave. M and I have agreed that this is the nicest place we will ever be able to afford to live. A house? A house that we own in New England will never come close to being this new, this full of "amenities" for what we can afford in this housing market. Maybe in East Anywhere, Texas. But not in New England, where a small, one-bedroom condo will go for upwards of 300k.

So we're enjoying the pool. All weekend, we welcomed summer in our bathing suits, soaking up the sun and trying to block out kid's screams. We grilled dinner on the public patio grill and drank cosmos in plastic cups in the setting sun. With 12 other strangers... but what does that matter?

We eat breakfasts of hot coffee, fresh bread and hard boiled eggs on our patio three stories up. Where two brown birds with red chests have made a nest in the beams, and our tomato plants reach for the sun though the bars. We watch over the main road below, and the abandoned (creepy) old jail up the road. It's supposed to be the second most haunted place in town. Fingers crossed that the ghosts don't make their way across the road.

Laundry gets done in the hallway washer and dryer, so conveniently inside the apartment. Dishes get cleaned in the dishwasher. M's parents slept in the second bedroom / soon-to-be office space. At night, we curl up on the couch, relaxed for the first time in three weeks and sift through the hundreds of channels we "accidentaly" received when we signed up for the most basic of cable packages. HBO! Cinemax! MTV! sweet.

So that's where I've been for the last month. Not updating. Not writing much. But getting ready to move, packing, hiring movers, moving, unpacking, visiting family in New York and then Maryland, and gettting my first taste of just how busy and stressful my new job can be. But I'm still here. (Still loving the job, as crazy as it's been). Things are calming down a bit and I'm settling in. And I've got some pictures to share, as soon as I figure out this Flickr thing.

A port in the storm

2006-04-08T13:11:00.000-04:00

It was cold and damp out last night, and it had been a long week with not enough sleep. All I wanted was a soft blanket to curl up under, a entertaining but not too thoughtful movie, and M.

In the corner market, which is also a video store, a betting shop and a liquour store, we also found a bottle of port. I don't remember exactly how we recently discovered port, but the warm, sweet ruby-red drink was made for nights like that.

Big Changes in the Works

2006-04-06T22:14:00.000-04:00

I'm no longer in the beige. My brief "Office Space" experience (yes, complete with the appropriate red Swingline stapler) is finally over. Four months of dull, dull, dull. DONE!

Even better, I've become a professional writer. For a cool company. With great benefits. And fun people - a bunch of us went out for drinks tonight at a little bar in Exeter, New Hampshire. It overlooked a river dam, and in the setting sun with a Guinness in my hand, I felt pretty damn good.

And moving on... I'm moving. Or rather, WE ARE moving. I am leaving my lovely little urban closet for a spacious love nest with a built in washer and dryer. That's right! Clean clothes ANYTIME I want them! For free!

Oh, and there's a pool.

Jealous yet?

Before you get too green with envy, how would you like to make the moving plans for us? Get the permit for the moving trucks from the city? Figure out where the loading dock at my new office is, where they mysteriously store extra boxes? Call the utility companies to cancel...and begin new service? Sift through our clothes and books and kitchen gadgets to create piles for ""give away," "store in the basement," and "we have two of these now - which one do we keep and what do we do with that other one?" Oh and there's more where that came from. Ah, May will be nice because we will be there in OUR apartment. Surronded by boxes and double kitchen gadgets waiting to be put away. In OUR kitchen.

If May is warm, we're goin' swimming too. Come on over - we'll grill!

Destination: Lawrence, Mass.

2006-02-27T18:00:00.000-05:00

Sunday afternoon, we were shivering among the barren factories and massive old warehouse buildings on the verge of a recovery in a small town in northern Massachusetts. M and I had decided to consider moving; leaving the city for a small, albiet still hip, community. While Lawrence didn't turn out to be THE place to live, it was a great place for taking photos.

Later in the afternoon, we continued on a chilly tour of Haverhill (also an up-and-coming community of debilatated factories-turning-condos) and finally Salem.

Salem was the closest to what we're looking for: smaller than Boston, lots of good bars and restaurants, a young population, close-knit town center and close to the water. Plus, good freinds of ours just boughts a condo in Salem (yes, the witch town. Just you wait for our Halloween extravaganza! IF we end up moving there.). Either way and whatever the final destination for now, the exploring is the fun part.

Work... not so much

2006-02-27T16:34:00.000-05:00

What do the rest of you do at 4:00 p.m. on a Monday, when you have nothing to do at work and you're completely bored? After reading all your friends' blogs, of course. And reading the interesting articles on Boston.com. And getting a head start on your work for next week. And responding to some emails. And looking for apartments, just for kicks.

What DO you do? When you don't like your job that much in the first place, and there aren't enough fun people or busy work to make the day go by? Cause counting the minutes on the computer clock is getting old.

My Hometown Makes National News

2006-02-24T09:27:00.000-05:00

I usually view the news as a necessary evil. I want and need to know what's going on in the world, but it's always so depressing that I change the channel half way through. As shallow as it may be, I deal with enough stress and trauma with my own life and the lives of my friends and family. At the end of a long work day, I just don't want to see the pain and sadness around the world.

But this is a different kind of news story. This is one of those rare events that makes me proud to be part of this crazy human race. Proud of all of us. Proud of my hometown. And very, very proud of the next generation of Greece Athena High School students. One student in particular.

It's kind of a long story, but it's my Friday gift to you. I promise it will make you smile, and maybe even bring a tear to your eye. Read it because Jason deserves every bit of fame and goodwill the news can provide.

Autistic teen scores 20 in basketball game

By Ben Dobbin, Associated Press Writer
February 24, 2006

GREECE, N.Y. --Jason McElwain had done everything he was asked to do for the Greece Athena High School basketball team -- keep the stats, run the clock, hand out water bottles.

That all changed last week for the team manager in the final home game of the season. The 17-year-old senior, who is autistic and usually sits on the bench in a white shirt and black tie, put on a uniform and entered the game with his team way ahead.

McElwain proceeded to hit six 3-point shots, finished with 20 points and was carried off the court on his teammates' shoulders.

"I ended my career on the right note," he told The Associated Press by phone Thursday. "I was really hotter than a pistol!"

In recent days, McElwain's phone has hardly stopped ringing. When his family went out for a meal, he was mobbed by well-wishers. A neighborhood boy came by to get a basketball autographed.

McElwain, 5-foot-6, was considered too small to make the junior varsity, so he signed on as team manager. He took up the same role with the varsity, doing anything to stay near the sport he loves. Coach Jim Johnson was impressed with his dedication, and thought about suiting up McElwain for the home finale.

His performance was jaw-dropping: 20 points in four minutes, making 6-of-10 3-point shots. The crowd went wild.

"It was as touching as any moment I have ever had in sports," Johnson
told the Daily Messenger of Canandaigua.

McElwain didn't begin speaking until he was 5. He lacked social skills
but things got easier as he got older. He found many friends and made his way through school in this Rochester suburb, although many of his classes were limited to a half-dozen students. And he found basketball. On the varsity, he never misses practice and is a jack-of-all-trades.

"And he is happy to do it," Johnson said. "He is such a great help and is well-liked by everyone on the team."

Even though McElwain was in uniform for the Feb. 15 game, there was no guarantee he would play -- Athena was battling for a division title.

The fans, however, came prepared. One section of students held up signs bearing his nickname "J-MAC" and cutouts of his face placed on Popsicle sticks.

The Trojans opened a large lead against the team from the nearby Spencerport. With four minutes left, McElwain took the court to deafening cheers.

The ball came to him almost right away. His 3-point shot sailed completely off course, and the coach wondered if he made the wrong move. McElwain then missed a layup. Yet his father, David, was unruffled.

"The thing about Jason is he isn't afraid of anything," he told the newspaper. "He doesn't care what people think about him. He is his own person."

On the next trip down the floor, McElwain got the ball again. This time he stroked a 3, all net. He was just warming up.

"As soon as the first shot went in that's when I started to get going," he said.

On the next attempt, he got another 3-pointer. Then another, and another. In fact, he would have made one more 3, but his foot was on the line, so he had to settle for 2 points.

Greece Athena won 79-43, and pandemonium reigned. McElwain signed autographs, posed for pictures and was hoisted by his teammates.

The Trojans begin sectional play Saturday and McElwain will be on the bench again, wearing his usual shirt and tie.

It doesn't bother him. More important, he said, is "trying to win a sectional title for the team."
McElwain will soon be done with high school basketball, then enroll in business management this fall at Monroe Community College.

"I'll go on to college and I'll try to hoop there," he said. "I just love it, it's one of the greatest sports in the world."

© Copyright 2006 Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material
may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

FEMA Strikes Again

2006-02-13T15:10:00.000-05:00

FEMA is stopping payment on hotel rooms for homeless Hurricane Katrina victims, and somehow can't cut through the red tape to get trailers to where they're needed. Instead, thousands of empty trailers sit in Hope, Nebraska. They've sat there for months. They're starting to sink into the ground, and FEMA's response is to throw money into building a gravel bed for more stable support.

Last fall, after Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast, leaving thousands homeless, officials in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama began calling for trailers to provide temporary shelter. More than 100,000 were requested, and somebody decided it would be a good idea to create staging areas for the trailers outside the hurricane zone.

Today, Hope has 10,777 wide-bodied mobile homes sitting empty at Hope Municipal Airport, a sprawling former military base.

After all these months, storm victims cannot seem to get the trailers, and they're proving a mixed blessing to Hope and to Arkansas.

"It just boggles the mind in this day and time," said Mark Keith, head of the Chamber of Commerce. "There are 10,770 trailers at Hope Airport. That's one for every man, woman and child in Hope, with a few left over to send to Emmett, down the road."

On the plus side, jobs have been created for security guards, maintenance workers, and others who try to take care of the trailers that cover all but one of the airport's runways, and that spill over onto adjacent land. At Uncle Henry's, the owner, Bobby Redman, said business was up as much as 20 percent.
Many are upset that the trailers are not being moved to where they're needed. ''It's not about Hope," Ramsey said. ''It's about folks in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama."
"All of us think it's not right for them to be sitting out there, and not where families need them," said Janice Skipworth, general manager of the Super 8 Motel, which filled with Katrina survivors after the storm. "I stand behind my government no matter what, but this is kind of wrong."
With the rainy season at hand, some local officials voiced fear that many of the units would sink into the mud. But FEMA announced plans to lay down a 290-acre bed of gravel, at a cost of $6 million.
Why haven't the trailers been sent to those who need them?
Representative Mike Ross, a Democrat of Arkansas and a graduate of Hope High School, asked that question Thursday as he toured the airport with FEMA officials. ''It cost $431 million, and they're all sitting there -- 75 percent of them literally parked in a cow pasture," Ross said in a telephone interview.
FEMA says it has been stymied by federal regulations, such as one forbidding trailers to be on flood planes -- which rules out much of the area hit by Katrina -- and by local officials in
Louisiana.
~ Boston Globe, "As Katrina's homeless wait, trailers sit empty in an Arkansas town," February 12, 2006

Up In The Air

2006-02-12T16:29:00.000-05:00

It's been snowing since sometime afer midnight. I'm inside under a blanket while M is braving the cold to shovel the driveway. The joys of being a landlord and home owner. The tenants upstairs left the front door open again, and there's a coating of snow inside the entryway.

It's been a strange weekend. I feel in between things, and divided between hoping for the future to come while still dealing with the present. Work is the biggest issue in this tug of war with my emotions. I don't like my current situation - it's new, but it didn't take long to see how wrong the fit is. There is no room for new ideas in my little department of four. We are led by an outwardly powerful and un-personable and, I expect, inwardly insecure woman. I dread going to the office every morning, and each weekend passes by much too quickly. I have a few other options in the works, but will hold any excitement for a signed, sealed offer. Until then, each day I tuck the creative, thoughful, fun, unique parts of me away for the beige hours of the day.

We'll be moving sometime this Spring, too. Although we're not sure where (the job may have some part in the location). There are the little coastal towns we've been exploring since last fall. Could we live here? It has a little irish pub and a coffee shop where we could get to know the locals. But is there a tapas restaurant? That seems to be a rarity. Views of the ocean, beach walks, bigger and newer apartments for the money. Less traffic. A sense of community. The appeal of smaller town life. But would we miss the activity? The bustling, the anytime activities? Museums and a new restaurant to explore every day of the week (if we could afford to eat out that often)? This is up in the air, too.

A chill drifts in through the window and tickles the back of my neck. Nose dripping, I wrap the blaket tighter around, and tell myself again that it will all work out. One way or another, regardless of the outcome, come the summer we will be here or there and work will be what it is. Sometimes a little distance, a step back, calms the flailing feeling of up-in-the-air. It's a temporary fix, though, and in the quiet moments of the evening my mind drifts to what may come, what will be, and how we will get there.

The Countdown

2006-01-23T22:44:00.000-05:00

We bloggers love our lists. Lesterhead and The Big Pink brought this one into our circle.

TEN FIRSTS
First best friend: Other Heather. I don't know what her last name was - I was three and living in Houston. I just remember telling my mom that I was "going over to Other Heather's house."
First screen name: Bakerloo
First pet: Sammy, the West Highland Terrier. Her ashes are in a little box in my brother's apartment.
First piercing: ears
First crush: Nicky Terpolilli, in 4th grade. We played My Little Ponies and kissed once.
First CD: First one I remember - Counting Croows, August and Everything After
First job: Petstuff cashier. I rang out a huge parrot once that someone bought with cash. That was a lot of money to count.
First true love: I've only been in love twice. Once was in highschool. The second time is just beginning.
First stuffed animal: Goofy.

NINE LASTS
Last alcoholic beverage: Chocolate orange martini that M made up
Last car ride: this morning on my ride in to work
Last movie seen: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Last phone call: Mike
Last CD played: U2
Last time you cried: Today
Last time you fell: Hm. I honestly can't remember, but it can't have been that long ago.
Last time you had sex: yesterday. mmm...
Last time you said "I Love You": a few minutes ago

EIGHT HAVE YOU EVERS
Have you ever dated one of your best friends: nope
Have you ever been arrested? nu-uh
Have you ever been on tv? yes. Boston news interviewed me as a concerned citizen about a rape in my neighborhood.
Have you ever yelled at someone in public? Probably my brother, in the grocery store or something. Never someone I don't know very well.
Have you ever purposefully teased? In a kind, silly way - all the time. In grade school, I was the one butt of the teasing.
Have you ever dreamed of your wedding day? More recently than in years past. general images, no details.
Have you ever been in love? yes. I'm in love now, and I know just how lucky I am.
Have you ever lied? yep. little white lies once in a while, most often to save a complicated explaination. i try really hard not to.

SEVEN THINGS YOU ARE WEARING:
fun socks
my great-grandmother's silver & rose quartz ring
black pants
a lacy camisole
turtleneck sweater (damn, it's cold outside today!)
contacts
panties & bra

SIX THINGS YOU'VE DONE TODAY:
received my new iBook!
trudged through wet snow
researched Around the World trips
kissed M
Cried after talking to my mom
made extra spaghetti and meatballs for my lunch tomorrow

FIVE PEOPLE TO WHOM YOU CAN TELL ANYTHING:
Mike
Mom
Robin
Liz
Jen
Crystal

FOUR THINGS ON YOUR MIND:
Family drama
My new iBook
More interesting work
Travel

THREE CHOICES:
1. hot or cold: hot
2. black or white: black
3. chocolate or vanilla: chocolate

TWO THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE
(i need three)
Be published - maybe a book, maybe magazine articles...
Travel around the world
Have babies and make a home with the man I love

ONE THING YOU REGRET
Trying too hard to please everyone else. I'm learning.

Baby iBook

2006-01-23T22:35:00.000-05:00

Welcome home, girl!

My very first brand new computer, an adorable iBook G4, finally arrived today. The poor thing sat in her box at the back of my cube, while I counted each second till I could escape the office and bring her home.

Welcome to the new era of free-er HB Files blogging, more photos (with help from my lovely new Nikon digital camera - thank you M!), better music listening for me (and perhaps a better awareness of "who sings what;" I've always been painfully bad at that).

Now comes the trick of pulling off PC-user by day (in my dull, beige box of an office) and Mac-lady by night (ah, the mystery, the intrigue).

Long live Apple.

Random Thoughts Tuesday

2006-01-17T14:23:00.000-05:00

I feel no need to ask my boss if she wants Starbucks, even though I'm putting my coat on and heading out with the express purpose of going to Starbucks. I do not feel any "administrative" guilt about this, circa Working Girl. She can get her own damn latte.

****

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is a beautiful movie. Very true to the book. The "rebirth" of Aslan was a little more instantaneous than the rebirth of Christ. It was strange to see and understand some of the illusions to Christian faith in the story - I kind of liked it better as a childhood fairytale. M and I are now wondering about the plots for the other six books: are they all just set in Narnia, but are about different characters?

****

I finally ordered my iBook! The site promised (or "estimated") delivery in 3-5 business days. My order confirmation says it won't be shipped until next Tuesday. Ah, the waiting is painful.

****

60 degrees to 20 degrees in 12 hours is just plain mean.

****

Lately, I've been trying to prevent disappointment by not hoping too hard, nor talking about the thing that could become disappointing. Rationally, the "don't jinx it" approach doesn't seem to be an effective strategy. But what if it works? Better to just go with it.

****

Going back to the gym is difficult when there aren't enough passes for the ancient treadmills, and it's a long cold walk from home. I really want to get back into shape. But frostbite might not be a good start.

****

Shrimp with garlic and feta, fresh Maine shrimp with pasta (as a first course) and shrimp stuffing in red peppers (as a second course), and colossal shrimp atop whitefish with an herb butter sauce. Yum. Three nights of shrimp. Weekends are for eating -- and drinking -- well.

****

It's a four day work week. It already feels long.

Resolutions

2006-01-10T11:27:00.000-05:00

My New Years resolutions:

1) Write more
Last year's resolution "to get published" was too much pressure, and instead I didn't write much at all. This year I just want to write - whatever the end result is.

2) Paint
I have the supplies from my awful oil class. Time to unearth my highschool and college talents and make something pretty.

3) Exercize
I miss yoga and running; feeling my body's strength. But UGH I hate winter.

4) Find work that I enjoy

5) Give something back

Happy belated New Years, everyone.

Another 15 minutes

2006-01-10T10:59:00.000-05:00

"Si senor!"

Eight adults in numbered blue polo shirts yelled up from bench seats. Studio lights shone down on us and makeup dusted our shiney foreheads. Our job turned out to be more than expected.

It was supposed to be a silent, seated role. Camera to our backs, the president of the latin america division, our "coach," was the star of this corporate video. None of us were of latin descent (two blondes and several receding salt-and pepper hairlines among us). The from-behind camera angle would at least hide our middle-of-winter, northeast "whitey" complexions.

As scripted, we lept from the bench (surrounded by a set of dented highschool lockers arranged in a vast, dimly-lit studio), high-fiving and yelling in our flattest american accents, "uno! dos! tres! IMLA*!" Our faces and unathletic forms awkwardly leaping and cheering in false excitement.

"Si Senor!"

Several hundred international sales people will surely get a laugh out of this sorry image of a co-ed World Cup team.

Several takes of pale heads nodding, eyes cast down at folded hands (deep in thought), and intently staring at the "coach," we are excused and that's a wrap. My second 15 minutes of fame turned out to be as quirky as my first - a swedish news station that played an interview with me at an architectural charity competition. Si, a whole half hour of fame.

* IMLA is the acronym (oh, how I love the acronyms) for the company's Latin American division.

What About Our Party?

2005-12-16T16:33:00.000-05:00

Details about M and my holiday party to come - I meant to write about it this week, but work actually found it's way to my desk and I didn't have time until now. And now, there were two other blog-worthy things at the front of my mind. So I leave you with winter (ick) and a jazzy-bird christmas, and the promise for more party stories to come.

Happy shopping to all, and to all a good night!

(have I mentioned I have to do almost ALL of my Christmas shopping this weekend? AND fins a way to fit all packages into my carry-on suitcase to prevent the Christmas2005 debacle from repeating itself?)

Damn Winter

2005-12-16T16:26:00.000-05:00

Kia got stuck last night. Her front tires spun on ice - on a big hill - and she rolled forward until her nose was touching the Jeep in front of her. I panicked. Left her three feet into the street, bum hanging out for all to see, ran into my apartment. After unloading the mail and several deep breaths, my outloud i'm-not-crazy-i'm-just-talking-to-myself voice said, "Be a grownup, Heather. Go re-park your car."

By the time M arrived, Kia was more stuck than before and I was in tears. After much time and going through a pizza box and one green rubber-bottomed bathroom mat (which Kia spat out from under her icy tire with such force, the mat flew under two cars and half-way down the block), we finally got her into a safe spot for the night.

I hate hate ice. I hate winter. I hate hills.

poop.

The Birds

2005-12-16T15:57:00.000-05:00

Fingers flew across the strings. (My guitar will never get to be played like that). Rapping on the wooden body brought the bird to life, and introduced the trombone. Two feet away - in dangerously close range of the extending brass loop - the mellow echo repeats the guitar's rhythm.

With a sip of red wine, I smile and meet the deep blue eyes at my side. By the windows, the sax man wipes his brow. Bathed in the soft glow of Christmas tree lights and a low-hanging chandlier capped with red lampshades, the trio plays on through the night. Our small gathering whoops and applauds. The snow has stopped falling, and the ground is sparkling white down below.

It feels like a cliche. The acted-out version of a Hallmark Christmas card. The young friends celebrate the holidays together in a small, dimly-lit city apartment, huddled around the living room, listening and laughing, drinks in hand.

Except for the bird hats. They didn't quite fit the scene, which was one reason that I loved them. Beautiful and silly, we girls wore trucker-hats-turned-bird-beaks that the trombone-player's mother made once. A part of her artwork, her paper craft, her birds.

Part the music he's written, called Birds. Tonight, they're practicing to take it to Thailand where his mother lives. Bringing the theme back to the woman, and the place, where it began.

Snow!

2005-12-09T09:30:00.000-05:00

Snow is softly falling outside. I watch the school cancellations run across the bottom of the television screen before putting on my coat and hat.

On the packed and steamy bus, snow drips off my black hat onto my black wool coat. "I need some more color," I think, "dark enough out there in winter." It's Friday, and my jeans are soaked to the knee.

The lights from the Filene's Christmas tree glow reddish-orange through the white blur, and carols drift out through the overhead speakers. A few minutes ago, I left M with a kiss on his doorstep. Our little tree was plugged in already, and it was warm in inside.

The office is slow to awake this morning. Commuters are running late, and lazy hot coffee and omelet breakfasts fill up the cafeteria. I look around for projects, work, deadlines on my desk and, finding none, picture the warm apartment. I wish were were eating eggs in our pajamas, and watching the snow fall.

Merry Menu Making

2005-12-08T09:18:00.000-05:00

Party planning can be stressful! M and I are hosting a small holiday gathering this weekend with the theme of a tree-trimming. Our short, fat little tree has some lights and a few ornaments hanging from his branches already, but we wanted to share the holidays with our friends and ask them to contribute to our tree. It will be nice to pull down the box of ornaments each year, and find memories of our first Christmas together, our first party thrown together, and sharing it all with friends. I wish all of the people we love could be with us, but we will be thinking of you. And sipping a Chocolate Peppermint Martini on your behalf.

Last night was the menu planning. Pen in hand, and internet at the ready, we decided we would "discuss" the menu options before M wrote down the ingredients. There has been too much crossing out and sighs of frustration. I was starting to pout, "this is supposed to be fun..."

What we ended up with after several hours of recipes and ingredients and debating what needs to go in the oven and what we could make a day ahead, is a mouth-watering list:

Cheese plate with crackers
Vegetable plate
Dill dip
Marinated olives
Hot crab dip
Walnut & cranberry-stuffed, baked brie
Pepper-crusted steak crostini
Mini quiches
Stuffed mushrooms
Spitzbuben cookies - my grandmother's famous German recipe.
Date balls - M's mom's famous holiday recipe
Chocolate-covered strawberries

And that doesn't even include the cocktails. After proudly finishing our menu and a full-page grocery list for M to tackle today, I started to giggle.

We have 16 people coming to our party, including M and I. We are making 12 appetizers. One each, almost. "Welcome, Jackie! Here's your cheese plate. Feel free to share... Hi Aryel, you get the date balls!"

wooo...hee hee hee. It was so funny we both were both tearing up, and couldn't speak real words. Maybe you had to be there.

*******
Happy Holidays, all. For me, this is what it's all about. Making good food and drink for my friends and having time to share it together. I haven't gotten around to stringing the cranberries and popcorn for the tree, but darn it there will be good food!

Here's a before picture of our tree - I'll post a party picture next week.

Begins with Beige, Ends with a Dance

2005-12-06T12:06:00.000-05:00

On Friday night, someone I used to work with asked how my new job is going. "It's... beige," I found myself blandly describing.

"The cubicles are beige, the ceiling is beige, the walls are beige, and the work is kind of beige."

Sigh. Maybe it just hasn't kicked in yet. Maybe the work will get more interesting, my schedule might get busier and I might grow to like my new boss. But so far, it's dull and uninspiring. I don't regret leaving my last post to try something new. But beige isn't really my color. (Is it anyone's color?). And I don't like admitting that I may not be happy here in the long run.

*****

How often do you carefully choose a thoughtful Christmas gift for someone, and receive from them the SAME THING - before you could give them your gift?!

Ha! I'm telling you I have some kind of weird ESP thing going on.

*****

The Milestone Dance

I have never put a lot thought into those big life milestones like marriage and children and buying a home. The right person to share them with had to come first, and for many years that person was an uncertain figment of my imagination. I couldn't picture him, so how could I possibly picture those milestone events that we would share?

Now that I've found that person, and we've been basking in new love and all of the thrills of finding eachother and figuring eachother out, the questions have begun. Questions about the milestones - marriage, children, homes. Questions from family and friends, and between each other. Questions that I never had answers to, much less more than a passing thought about, are taking me a bit by surprise. In a good way, but slightly unexpected nonetheless.

Because I (and we) don't have answers. Not clear cut answers, anyway. We love talking about the future and where we might be. What our lives might be like. The considerations of timing and money, houses and cities, family and careers. But we're not ready to share our thoughts with the outside world. The questions keep coming and so I dance around them, protective of something that still feels new and very much OURS. These milestones will be a huge part of our life together. I am so looking forward to all of it - with girlish excitement, pure happiness and feeling completely and totally in love. And that will have to be answer enough, for now.

A Holiday Tree?

2005-12-01T10:56:00.000-05:00

Every year, Boston receives a huge evergreen Christmas tree as a gift from the people of Nova Scotia. The tree-giving goes back to 34 years, as a token of gratitude. On December 6, 1917, a munitions ship exploded in Halifax Harbor. Within 24 hours, Boston had sent a train of relief supplies and emergency supplies. A longstanding friendship and holiday tradition was born.

This year, Boston succumbed to the political-correctness that is overtaking so many holidays and other controvertial topics. In the middle of Boston Common, draped in white lights and bright colored bulbs, and lit during a ceremony of much pomp and cricumstance led by mayor "mumbles" Menino and a jolly fat man in a red and white suit, will stand our "Holiday" tree.

Not a Christmas tree, as in years past and as Nova Scotia intended. But a holiday tree. WHICH holiday, exactly? Well Christmas, of course. There are no pine trees as part of the Hanukkah traditions (as far as I am aware - someone please tell me if I'm wrong!) I've never heard of a Kwanza tree. New Years may have lots of sparkly confetti, disco balls lights and balloon drops... but no tree.

So is "holiday tree" a less offensive way of favoring one religion's holiday over others? If we want to be more inclusive as a city, we could have a City of Boston menorah lit in an equally public arena. We could hold a city-wide celebration of Kwanzaa. We could all learn more about eachother's holidays, without diluting any of their unique traditions.

The city has received ridicule about their newly PC tree. Next year, it will be called a Christmas tree again. Good call. Tradition is tradition. But there's still room for new traditions, and more ways to celebrate our city's diversity.

Missing Lost

2005-11-29T09:19:00.000-05:00

Sitting in 8 hours of traffic, which started out as 10mph stop-and-go, we were missing something.

LOST

Something mysterious was happening with "the others" and the blonde girl was dying the last time we saw her. Were "the others" being revealed, while we sat in a long line of cars facing west on route 90?

Three hours in and we had travelled 40 miles. It was dark, but no snow in sight. The radio skipped around from one crackling station to another. We pulled into a service station to stretch and pick up some dinner. Five more hours ahead of us.

On the highway again, a mini-van flew by. Cool blue lights from a dashboard TV flickered and lit up the front seats. Cruel temptation.

Four days later, 5 pounds heavier, after seeing the whole family and eating most of the turkey, we drove the whole thing in reverse. But once we arrived (and dealt with a small heating crisis) we settled onto the couch and loaded up his laptop with the episode we had missed.

Ah, I love Apple.

Thanksgiving

2005-11-22T12:20:00.000-05:00

It feels like Thanksgiving outside - grey, rainy and cool with leaves scattered orangy-brown over the sidewalks. I'm packing tonight and driving home tomorrow - hoping the long 6.5 hours in the car won't be too snowy, and so thankful that M is driving with me.

Other things I'm thankful for this turkey day:

1) a warm bed at night, and strong arms to snuggle into

2) a glass of wine and shrimp cocktail waiting for me at my parent's home, after a long drive.

3) fireplaces

4) hot, milky coffee

5) having friends all together and feeling like no time has passed.

6) euker

7) hugs: the big, wrap-around, squeeze-your-love-into-me kind

8) fun nailpolish

9) sleeping in and lazy sunday afternoons with the Globe and a bottomless pot of coffee

10) books for traveling to different worlds, when I can't be travelling to different worlds

11) planes

12) secrets, for the sharing of them, and whispers for mystery and giggles

13) rollerball pens

14) H&M, Target and IKEA

15) Love, in all it's incarnations.

16) My lovely little Kia - the first car I bought all by myself.

17) lists

18) coming home

19) the one tall, handsome, blue-eyed, clever, thoughtful, kind, strong, talented man who is my partner in crime and in travel adventures, my fellow food snob and chef, gives great massages, tells wonderful stories, is sexy and adorable with 2-day scruff and dark-rimmed glasses, and makes me feel safe and silly and loved.

20) the ibook, for lusting after

I wish you a wonderful, turkey-filled Thanksgiving with warm homes and family and friends!

Two words...sounds like...

2005-11-18T15:24:00.000-05:00

Dinner at board games tonight! I'm breaking out Cranium - the best damn combination of charades, pictionary, name that tune and trivial pursuit you ever played. Something for everyone, even those of us who always hated silently gesturing while teammates screamed like they have tourettes.

"syronized swimming!"

"intestine!"

"sucking your blood!"

I was never all that great at Charades. But give me a pencil and watch those obscure references come to life on the page. Even with my eyes closed (love that crazy Cranium).

Have a good weekend! Thanksgiving is almost here... watch next week for a "Things I'm Thankful For" list, started last year by lesterhead and the big pink.

Second Hand

2005-11-17T16:04:00.000-05:00

It's hard making new friends at a new job. Everyone already has their groups.

So I joined the most convenient group to see how it fits. Julie brought me inside the circle. You need that one person to "vouch" for you (as the goodfellas would say).

Only problem is the group I've joined are the smokers. They meet together in front of the building three or four time a day to smoke a butt together and gossip about the office. I don't smoke. I don't understand the office gossip (names I can't fit with faces, mysterious politics).

One one hand, it's nice to get away from my cube and get to mingle with other people during the day. But the second hand is making my hair and coat smell icky.

Not a creature was stirring...

2005-11-15T12:03:00.000-05:00

I was getting into the holiday spirit last night, lounging on my couch in pj's with a steaming mug of camomile tea in hand. Two boxes of cute Christmas cards from my weekend trip to Target (love that place with a passion that comes close to my feelings about Ikea) sat in front of me on the table.

I spent the evening going through faces of loved ones, family and friends, to put on my card list. One name would lead to a frenzy of three or four others who are connected in my memories. I pick cards carefully - I want mine to stand out on their mantle among the slew of other holiday cards. But gaudy is not an option - my style is simple, tasteful and a little bit different. Thirty some-odd names so far, and I'm sure there's a few mo.....

tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk..........

I saw the little bastard out of the corner of my eye. Gasp! I pulled my bare feet in under me. Something WAS stirring. The mouse was back.

I glanced at my cell phone a few feet away on my bed, made sure the little sucker was out of view (he scurried across the floor and under the bathroom door) and lept onto the bed.

Call #1: "Hi, this is blah blah from apartment blah blah blah.... There was a mouse in my apartment. This is not the first time. Please send an exterminator. I expect they will take care of this in the very near future. Thank you." Very calm. very polite.

Call #2: "Hey there... yep, I'm good... except the damn mouse is back! He ran across the floor! I'm stranded on the bed!! I can't reach my shoes to put them on... no, cause I don't have socks on... no... i don't want to let a little rodent drive me out of my own apartment... but EWWWWW!!!!! it's gross!!! ick. ick. ew.........."

Poor M, on the other end of less calm call #2.

There was a cartoon movie when I was little that was made from 'Twas the Night Before Christmas." The main charaters were a family of talking mice, who lived meagerly inside a clock tower. They were cute, and poor and knew the true meaning of Christmas. But when those little rodents leap off the animated TV screen and across my apartment floor, my holiday spirit is replaced by a squeeling call for the exterminator.

LOST

2005-11-10T11:42:00.000-05:00

We all knew it wouldn't be Sawyer to kick the bucket last night. It would have been too obvious. He was in every preview, passed out and bleeding from that gunshot. It had to be someone else, an minor character who wouldn't inspire backlash from angry fans. So she finds love, and then they kill her off. Eh. No angry emails to ABC from this fan.

*****************

On another note, my candy jar at work (ie. my lame attempt to bribe for new friends by providing sweet, chocolatey treats) has become hugely popular. My bright orange plastic pumpkin (yes, I'm a little behind on the holidays) is almost overflowing with donated Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Hershey's minis, Jolly Ranchers and Lindt Chocolate Balls (hee hee). Leftover Halloween candy... now I just need to make some work friends so they can help me eat it all.

Bump... Set ... Spike...

2005-11-09T14:48:00.000-05:00

Despite the way it "should" be done, the architect's league volleyball team managed to fumble its way to one victory and three very competitive losses. Not bad, in comparision.

The year before, the team was lucky to have one win, and three shockingly bad losses. Every week. We have fun, though. And we drink afterward. Wooden benches and bud lights at The Thirsty Scholar to celebrate - 'cause it's not whether you win or lose, but the drinking afterward.

Usually, there are a few spectacular slides across the high school gymansium floor, and a minor injury to be nursed. Balls get lodged in the netting that dangles from the ceiling (presumably for net-climbing and other necessary pys-ed skills that prepare our young people for the "real world"). Headbutting and soccer moves come out only in extreme circumstances. And if we're lucky, an awkward shot toward the other side of the court ends up in the basketball hoop. Score... 2 points!

We're a laughable bunch of wobbly sportmen and women. Mis-matched shirts emblazoned with our firm's logo, and ankle and knee braces abound for the more athletic dorks. Archi-dorks. It's very serious and very competitive for a select few... the rest of us see ourselves and have a laugh. In between the bump, the set and the spike (if any of those moves actually happen in a single game) we tease and flail.

If I could, I'd climb up the net to get that ball. 'Cause we got it stuck up there again. Thank god for my middle school net climbing lessons. But everyone else is laughing and heading for the door - it's time to head to the bar.

Missed a Bday!

2005-11-07T17:13:00.000-05:00

Oh! Happy belated birthday to my blog! November 3, 2004 was the birth of the HB Files. The service has been spotty through the last year, I know. But I'm here and I'm writing.

Speak up if you're out there reading...

Loving Josh Ritter

2005-11-07T17:01:00.000-05:00

I've been waiting for weeks for this song to come back around on my iPod Shuffle. I saw Josh Ritter open for Keene this summer, and I'll admit I'm a little obsessed. Someday, when I learn to play the acoustic guitar that's sitting in my parents' attic back home, I'm going to play this. It reminds me of young love, and the very first spring day...

Snow Is Gone

birds beneath my window dustying their wings upon the lawn
I hear them in the morning light giving last amen to a migratory song
they’re never looking round for me—their eyes are on the sky or the ground
below
but I’d rather be the one who loves than to be loved and never even know

hello blackbird hello starling
winter’s over be my darling
it’s been a long time coming
but now the snow is gone

you were beautiful when I first saw your feathers and confectionery airs
like the earth it up and promised you the stars but you really didn’t care
I sang in exultation pulled the stops—you always looked a little bored
but I’m singing for the love of it—have mercy on the man who sings to be adored

hello blackbird hello starling
winter’s over be my darling
it’s been a long time coming
but now the snow is gone
OOOOOOOOH!

I’m underneath your window now—it’s long after the birds have gone to roost
and I’m not sure if I’m singing for the love of it or for the love of you
but I’ve flown a long way honey hear my confession then I’ll go
I’d rather be the one who loves than to be loved and never even know

hello brown one hello blue one
last night’s feathers exchanged for new ones
hello blackbird hello starling
winter’s over be my darling
it’s been a long time coming
but now the snow is gone

Walking the Tightrope

2005-11-04T09:40:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I was feeling overwhelmed to the point of tears. New jobs are, I am beginning to remember, stressful and a little scary. Each meeting is a tightrope walk of trying to show what I can do, and trying to learn what I'm supposed to be doing. The expectations - whether they're in my head or out there in real offices I'm not sure - loom large and scary around every corner. I put on a confident smile and inside am a jello of insecurities. I miss knowing where I stand, being in control of my day, and having friends at work.

I do NOT enjoy trying to hide my tears by facing my cube wall.

But it's Friday, and I just got my first "great job!" email. So I guess I'm doing something right.

Boo!

2005-10-31T11:35:00.000-05:00

Happy Halloween!

City Living

2005-10-28T09:33:00.000-04:00

It stopped me quick, a few beers foggy and unsure whether to side step and hope it didn't move, or wait for it to move along out of my path. I don't like walking home in the dark, even when it's only 8:30. Night comes earlier and earlier, though, and there's not much choice but to get someone on my cell phone while I make my way home. When it gets late, I'll find a cab or take a busier route. But through the park is the most direct walk home from work or drinks with colleagues after work, and when it's cold I just want to get home fast.

I schreeked into the phone and M paused mid-sentence. "Ew ew ew." I whispered, self-conscious that someone nearby would hear my girl-ish squeal.

"It's a rat. There's a rat in front of me on the sidewalk."

It was moving back and forth across my path, and I froze. I just want to go home, damnit! It's long wiry tail was 10 feet from my shoes. I contemplated turning tail and scurrying back the way I came. But that would add 10 minutes to my walk, and I wasn't wearing a scarf or gloves; my hands were numb.

Finally, after what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds, the dark grey squirmy beast wobbled into the grass and I was free to continue home. Phew. Just when I get comfortable enough with my city living to drift through the day, a rodent comes along and reminds me that I'm not in suburban Greece, New York anymore.

And then this morning, a homeless man asked me for money and then cat-called at me. sweet. cheers. Welcome to Boston.

Wanted: Human Contact

2005-10-27T11:06:00.000-04:00

I have moved from a window seat, looking out over the brick and grey stone towers of downtown Boston, and short wood cube walls that were great for gossiping and tossing candy over ... to a beige cube lit by softly buzzing flourescents above, and walls high enough to hide the faces of the mystery voices all around.

It is my second week, and I'm just starting to talk to people. But without any real projects, I'm lacking for reasons to start a conversation. Julie, my department's admin and the one person I've eaten lunch with so far, takes smoke breaks and met people that way. She invited me out next time they go, just for some fresh air and a little human contact.

The thing is, once I get started, it's going to be really good. The few people I've met have been friendly and CALM and helpful - happy, even. The work will be challenging and big and interesting.

But while I'm still new and "getting up to speed," its the beige cube walls and the detatched voices that fill my afternoons. I've been emailing friends more than usual, and planning lunches and after-work drinks. I miss catching up with these friends during the work day, in between deadlines. Now they work up the street, and across the park and on the other side of the city. I miss their constant presence, when a break is needed or for bad day bitch-sessions.

New friends are hard to make, especially from inside a beige cube.

Quebec

2005-10-25T13:21:00.000-04:00

Standing in front of the Chateau Frontenac in old Quebec City

Girlfriends (and rain)

2005-10-25T09:03:00.000-04:00

Blogger update: I can't fix it. It seems my new work computer refuses to recognize new updates to the home page of HB Files. Not exactly something I can call IT to come look at. So I'll keep writing, and will just have to look at my archives to read it. All you readers out there shouldn't notice a thing.

********************

It's wet. Blowing, nasty, cold and wet out there. I hate the "Nor'easter." I was one of the fool people who thought a umbrella might keep me a smidge dry. Shocking that I spent most of my 20 minute walk to work trying to flip it back from inside-out. Completely futile. My pants are soaked (mmm... wet wool), my hair is a snarly matted mess and I'm in a super mood to start my day.

********************

Last weekend, Liz and Jen came to visit and remind me just exactly what I'm missing by living a 6.5 hour drive away from my hometown. I miss those girls. Strangely, I miss them more when they're sitting in my apartment, five feet away from me, snuggled up on an air mattress that takes up the entire floor of my little studio, eating gooey hot brownies with ice cream and watching cheesy movies. I miss the silly jokes, the goofy voices, Liz's burps (strange, but true) and the lovely feeling of being surrounded by smart, funny, wonderful women who know and love me.

Liz had never been to Boston, so on Friday (when I had to work), the girls walked to Quincy Market, Charles Street in Beacon Hill, and wandered around the city taking pictures and window shopping. I met up with them later for dinner at Zuma's Tex Mex and drinks and dancing at Ned Devines. M and I hadn't been dancing in forever, and the four of us had a blast with the band the Interns. Bopping around to new and old songs that we all sang out loud to, M showed off his signature "ca-cha-chop!" moves, and I fell in love with him a little bit more.

The rest of the weekend we explored, giggled and dodged the rain (yes, more rain). Swag colecting at the Head of the Charles - we snagged free Dunkin Donuts chap stick in yummy coffee flavors, free feminine products (weird, but I'll take it), and some men's cologne samples. Dinner on Saturday at the Black Rose for comfort foods - mashed potatoes, potato skins and meat. yum. Girls' night in followed, with brownie sundaes and movies on the floor.

They're back home now, after another 10 hours on the train. If only someone would invent a transporter thing, so we could have girls' night more often without a 10 hour train ride or 6.5 hours in the car. Thanksgiving's coming soon, though. And I know my girl's will save a night for me.

Broken Blogger

2005-10-19T14:34:00.000-04:00

Am having issues posting. I wrote a lovely update about Quebec, but it only shows up in my archives section. Trying to get Blogger to fix the problem. Will write again soon!

Vieux Quebec

2005-10-17T13:52:00.000-04:00

It's Day Two at the new job. As much as I'm enjoying meeting new people, getting myself set up, and the utter organization of this particular experience, I'm still dreaming of Quebec.

Narrow, winding, cobblestone streets lined with stone-walled homes. Rows of shops with unique, handpainted signs advertising "Patisserie," "Bistro," or an art gallery. The lilting sound of the french language swirls around us, a softer and more elegant sound than american english could be on the most cultured tounge.

We ate rich foods - lamb, veal, shrimp and caribou. Daringly tasted bits of foriegn-sounding delicacies. Accidentally sampled sweetbreads. (If you don't know, find out before you accidently eat some yourself.)

The Chateau Frontenac is the city's most charming icon - a looming turreted castle of stone and green copper roofs perched a top a cliff looking down over the lowest area of the old town. We looked waaaaay up at the chateau from the banks of the Saint Lawrence, and we looked down on the glowing turrets in the evening from the highland Plains of Abraham. Very biblical sounding, but unrelated.

The Chateau employs some unique characters, including: (but not limited to) an ornery Maitre'd who made us check our own coats before being seated for dinner (for $4!); an elvin waiter in costume, who awkwardly hopped around the dining room; a bread-boy who alluded to our piggishness for ordering TWO appetisers, and the round little man who brought the pre-hors d'ouvres "treat" and breezily whispered its description en francais. (here's where the sweetbreads come in)

Five days in Quebec, and we were speaking french to everyone, walking the streets without our map, and looking at "For Rent" ("A Louer") signs in the little apartments with views of the river. Cheap, compared to Boston. I suggested we would need to get some fur coats, and fur-lined boots. And hibernate for the winter. Tempting.

New jobs, visiting friends and a slightly warmer climate drew us home again. But I'm still dreaming en francais...

Until then...

2005-10-11T13:26:00.000-04:00

My soon-to-be-ex boss just gave me a graphic design book as a going-away present. I'll be designing some internal communications collateral in my new job, and the book is a great refresher to my summers at M&P!

M and I are leaving tomorrow morning for a drive up to Quebec for five whole days. Ah, vacation. On the schedule: No Schedule! A relaxing trip of doing whatever we want: dinner and drinks at the Chateau Frontenac, wandering through little cafes and stone wall-lined alleys, and a little taste of old world france. I'll blog again next week with stories from the trip, and updates on my new job (first day is Monday!).

Bonne journee!

Moving on

2005-10-11T13:15:00.000-04:00

Today is my last day of work. I have never left a job feeling so good and positive about my exit. Everyone has been kind and full of well-wishes, and there are many people I have promised to keep in touch with (and I actually mean it). Change is always tough, though, and I feel it getting a little bit tougher the older I get.

What was that song we used to sing in girl scouts? The only part i can remember is, "Make new friends, but keep the old... one is silver and the other is gold." Cheesy, yes. Very. Okay maybe I shouldn't even have written it! But I'm cheesy, so what can I say :).

Moving on is good. It's time. I'm excited. But it's a little sad, too. The grey gloomy rain outside doesn't help my introspective mood much. Maybe the margaritas this afternoon will. And later, PACKING FOR QUEBEC!

Hello, Mother Nature

2005-10-10T10:03:00.000-04:00

Hurricanes. Flooding. Earthquakes. Fires.

Is the apocalypse coming? (My grandmother, a bible student who reads the letter of the Good Book as truth, would say it is). I don't believe in a power higher than all of us, but the force of the natural world can't be denied. And Mother Nature has taken a good swing at us little people this year.

Over-stimulation. I feel like I did in the month following 9/11. Exhausted. Tapped-out. Numb. I have cried for the destruction and the images of people suffering on the news, hundreds or thousands of miles away. I have cried all the tears I have in me, for now. I cannot watch any more. Don't want to.

Guilt at my own feeble limits weighs heavy, and I know I am so weak compared to the many who give of their own two hands to help. Tell me where to send money, and I send what little I can. I know it's not enough, but it's something.

Different-colored glasses

2005-10-10T09:12:00.000-04:00

Wandering across distressed wood plank flooring in a converted whiskey distillery on Saturday afternoon, I got a glimpse into the "starving artist" life. The loft spaces were unevenly divided up - some attics, some long hallways that end in a large closet. Almost exclusively messy, minimal and dimly lit from a single window, I wandered through the places where those who suffer comfort for art co-habitate. They formed a kind of community, eating together, playing acoustic guitars and sharing connections in the "industry."

"I'm not commercial," I hear one kid emphasize into his cell phone. All earnest purity - art for arts's sake.

M and I both loved the pinhole camera prints. They remind me of the pinhole project I had in high school, taking pictures of a cement bridge at the entrance to Athena. The miniature models of skeltons (eerily boney figures in fetal positions and hanging from a noose) were creepy and too dark.

I respect these people - young kids mostly, who seem to be avoiding the real world of creating a home and building a life - for the risks they take. Creating art that is different enough to be jarring. Living on the outskirts of society. Living and working in the same dim room, hanging on to their sanity with little human interaction (I know that I would go stir-crazy, and then simply insane). The artist's temperament - is this what sustains them?

"He's just a true artist." I have heard several conversations at work recently, listening to management explain away an employee's bad behavior. This is not an excuse for laziness or unreliable work. I have found it to be just the opposite. I consider myself lucky to have known many creative people in my life and career - they are all focused and dedicated professionals. Graphic designers, photographers, writers, architects and illustrators - we look at the world through different-colored glasses each day, and challenge it to be something of meaning and beauty.

Clip Clip Clip

2005-10-07T14:59:00.000-04:00

Why do men clip their fingernails at the office? I sit near two very professional architects, grey-haired gentlemen who greet their clients in suit and tie. They both have clip-clipped away during work hours, within earshot of my cube this week.

I don't even want to know where the clippings go. The sound is bad enough. But I have to say I feel bad for the poor cleaning people who happen upon fingernails strewn around the carpeting.

Nail-filing is equally as bad for women (although I have been guilty of this in the past. I bite my fingernails sometimes - gross, I know - but if I can get them to grow out at all, a little filing is necessary to keep them in tact. Even if it's during the middle of work).

I could go on and on about bad office habits. Oatmeal-crusted dishes left in the sink; pee on the toilet seats; microwaving fish at 10:00 in the morning... An email went out to my office this morning reprimanding some of these messy antics. I've come to the conclusion that most people need their mommy following them around 24/7, just to keep them from screwing up the world for the rest of us. Maybe Barb should be paying more attention to little GW.

I wonder if there are nail clippings on the West Wing floor?

mmm... Friday

2005-10-07T09:10:00.000-04:00

Happy, happy Friday. Oh how I love the beginning of the weekend. All of the hope and anticipation of sleeping in late, two whole days of acting on a whim (if the whole weekend hasn't already been planned and scheduled, like many are).

Friday is breakfast treat day. All week I am good to my body - yogurt and fruit, low-caffiene tea. But today is Friday. Today is ham, egg and cheese (mmm... melted cheese) breakfast sandwich from Dunkies, and a hot vanilla spice coffee - with whole milk and sugar. I just made up for a whole week of healthy eating, but damn it tastes good.

Sidenote

2005-10-06T15:40:00.000-04:00

Ever since I quit my job, I've had time to blog at work. Go figure.

Are we there yet?

2005-10-06T15:33:00.000-04:00

I love AAA. They give our free maps to anywhere you want - I walked out of there today with maps of each New England state (just to have on hand for road trips), a map of the eastern provinces of Canada (en francais, "euh...huh....huh") and a tour guide for Quebec. On order, a TripTik from Boston to Quebec city - removing any potential for getting lost along the 7 hour drive.

If you've never experienced map shopping at your local AAA office, I highly recommend it. Just getting something for free is a fabulous feeling - but when it's travel-related too, well that's almost orgasmic.

Salty Feet

2005-10-06T10:11:00.000-04:00

New England winters are tough on my closet. Last night I spent three hours organizing - putting summer clothes into storage (aka the giant tapestry suitcase under my bed), piling wool sweaters high up on my closet shelves, and tossing too baggy winter clothes in a pile for "give away."

Salt and pebble remanents from last year's loooong snowy season came tumbling down from shelves, sifting out of shoe soles, and scattering across the parquet floor. In my bare feet, I did the little dance celebrating "something hard and icky stuck to my heel."

In the give-away pile lay two pairs of salt-crusted boots, with small ragged holes in the heel. Pebbles lodged inside the hollow heel make a nice "rattle" when I walk. Why do they make heels so thin and brittle?? Am I just buying cheap shoes? (as much as I LOVE Payless, those boots were from Macy's.)

The poor folks in South Dakotas just got hit with two feet of snow (it's October!) and I know winter is on it's way here, too. The 80 degree days out there might let me cling to summer for a few more weeks, but the salt trucks are waiting.

It's time to go find a new pair of boots. There's a space in my closet to fill.

Delay

2005-10-05T16:03:00.000-04:00

Ugh! I'm tempted to get TiVo just for tonight. LOST won't be on until 11:30 p.m. because of the damn Red Sox game.

I hope the Sox win, of course. But couldn't they do it on another station? I need to know who THE OTHERS are, and what goes down in the hatch... Gonna be a late night.

On a Wing and Prayer

2005-10-05T10:23:00.000-04:00

If you get the bird flu, do you think chicken soup would still help?
GW trying to "prepare" us for a pandemic with fear and tanks...

======================================
Bush asserted aggressive action could be needed to prevent a potentially crippling U.S. outbreak of a bird flu strain that is sweeping through Asian poultry and causing experts to fear it could become the next deadly pandemic. Citing concern that state and local authorities might be unable to contain and deal with such an outbreak, Bush asked Congress to give him the authority to call in the military...

... Dr. Irwin Redlener, associate dean of Columbia University's Mailman School of Public Health and director of its National Center for Disaster Preparedness, called the president's suggestion an "extraordinarily draconian measure" that would be unnecessary if the nation had built the capability for rapid vaccine production, ensured a large supply of anti-virals like Tamiflu, and not allowed the degradation of the public health system.
- Boston Globe, 10/5/05
======================================

Travel Survey

2005-10-04T10:36:00.000-04:00

I'm planning two trips, and am interested in thoughts out there about the best things to see in:

1) BOSTON
I know Boston inside and out. I've lived here for five years. I know it almost too well. So now I'm planning activities for a visit from two of my favorite people from Roch-cha-cha (Liz and Jen, I can't wait to see you!) and could use some outside perspective:

If you have been a visitor to Boston - what were your favorite things to do/see? (Freedom trail? Fenway Park? Top of the Pru? The MFA?)

2) QUEBEC CITY
Five days and four nights of trying out my rusty french, warm croissants (mmm...) and autumn afternoons in this old walled city. I don't want a minute-by-minute plan, but I'd love some ideas about the fun stuff to see. Have any ideas for me?

Goodbye

2005-10-04T10:13:00.000-04:00

We always found him in the basement, playing on the computer. "Grandpa" was quietly present in the background, through our pre-adolescent sleepovers, innocent games of telephone and spoons, birthday parties and summer afternoons by the pool. While we grew up together, he was around. He has a place in our memories of those simple times together - the bonds that tie us across states and jobs and life.

To my dear Crys and her family - you are in my thoughts. I love you.

Worn Navy Jaket on a Crooked Hanger

2005-10-04T10:02:00.000-04:00

Mr. DeClerk once told us, "talent doesn't matter - if you want to paint, and you work at it, anyone can be an artist."

He encouraged us to love the colors, the way the brushes work on canvas. He saw the world through our eyes and we put a bit of ourselves into a still life: "Worn Navy Jacket on a Crooked Hanger."

My painting teacher at the Boston Center for Adult Education told me last night, "Wrong color. Should be lighter" (in a heavy Russian accent). Or simply, "Good." It is either right or wrong - and right is his version of painting. My three hours on a Monday evening is spent trying to ignore his voice of criticsm, and get into that happy place where the paints swirl under my hand, and take on a life of their own.

On my cell with M, he opened the camera-phone picture I sent of my in-progress work. "How did you do all of that in three hours??"

I don't know. It's just in me... and it came out. I don't know about talent, and the Russian "Professor"certainly doesn't help, but I want to paint. And I'm working at it.

Eureka

2005-10-03T16:29:00.000-04:00

I finally found my cords.
They're from H&M, they're long...

and they're eggplant. yum.

New Job!

2005-10-03T09:23:00.000-04:00

Good bye, architecture. Hello, records and document management.

I gave my notice at my job last week - next Tuesday is my last day. Strangely, it was with mixed feelings. The company has its flaws, and over the last three years they've worn me down to a state of relative ambivalence. Not the most fun way to spend the majority of my days. But there are a LOT of great people here. Smart, talented, funny, kind people. They made it worthwhile.

So I'm moving on and movin' up. Out of marketing and into internal communications. Still writing... just for a different audience.

I'll let you know how it goes. I start in two weeks.

Fish Tale

2005-10-03T09:09:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I welcomed fall with frozen nose and toes, a fishing pole and good company. Four of us went camping in the white mountains of New Hampshire. The leaves are already turning faint shades of oranges and reds. "Leaf-peeping" season, as they call it here in New England, is beginning.

Two flat-bottom canoes, two pairs of oars, four ill-fitting life-vests, and two cheapy beginner fishing poles from Target and K-mart - we set off into Danforth Bay to catch us some dinner. Around the sandy cove, littered with loud-mouthed toddlers in pink polka-dot bathing suits, we paddeled in the dark water. Mountains and pine forests rose up around our small bay. After some serious concentration and tossing beers from boat to boat, it was time to drop our lines. M teased us with hints of a shark fishing story, to be told later by the flickering light of a campfire. My childhood summers catching bass, perch and sunfish in the St. Lawrence came back to me, and I readied my arms for a tug on the line.

I give M a try with the sinker and small neon yellow eyeball thing at the end of my line. He casts - whirrrrsh.... kerplop. Click of the reel and after a minute - the poles bends sharply toward the water. He's got something! Across the pond, our friends sense the excitement and paddle our way. Row the boat closer! Keep reeling in!!! Is it a big one??

The line goes slack, the neon yellow eyeball is pulled to the surface, and on the end of the line - seaweed. So it goes for dinner. We end up settling for steak tips and burgers over an open fire, potatoes roasted in coals, and one hell of a shark-fishing story.

Cords

2005-08-29T08:19:00.000-04:00

size 1, short. size 20, short. 2 regular. 1 regular. 16.

old navy has great commercials - my recent favorite filmed in a cordoroy cabbage patch, with scrubbed-clean men and women hand-picking skirts, shorts, pants out of the greenery. I've wanted a pair of cute new cords since last season, but have been waiting to find the "perfect" pair. At $24 a pop, old navy sounds pretty perfect. Except they don't have my size. I'm certainly not abnormally big or small - pretty average, I would think. I did manage to find a couple of pairs my size, but nothing in "long."

No wonder everyone is doing their shopping online. OldNavy.com here I come. One pair of leaf-green "gettin' ready for fall" cords to fit my long legs. I'm not ready to give up on summer quite yet, but i LOVE fall.

Apple picking and pies in the over. Cool crisp days with a sweater and scarf. Bright red maple leaves and smoke drifting from chimneys. mmm... fall....

M and I are planning an Oktoberfest dinner party - anyone interested in raising their stein to saurkraut and streudel with us?

Not Dead

2005-08-03T16:45:00.000-04:00

Hi all. I'm alive, I promise.

Work is a mess - we've lost 4+ people in my little department in the last six months, and we've only just hired some new people. They start in two weeks. Guess who gets to train them? Yep, just pile that extra serving right on top of my overflowing plate. If work were food, I'd be fat by now. *yum*

But i did get promoted, so that's good news. A little recognition after three years. Senior Marketing Coordinator. Has a ring to it, no? Not sure what it sounds like, as my new role is yet unclear, but its a step up from the senior-less title.

"Boston, you're my home," as the song goes. Although every weekend in July, it hasn't been. baby, I've been on the road! New Hampshire, Cap Cod, Washington DC, Saratoga and Hudson Falls, NY. Not a single weekend to clean underwear or the toilet. But who needs a clean toilet when you're not home to use it?

But getting back to the song... this weekend I am finally, gratefully home! I have a date on friday night to a snazzy new french bistro I've been reading about and wanting to visit for months. My "unscheduled" weekend will also include some painting - walls, not canvas - and possibly attaching some cabinet knobs in M's kitchen. It's his house, but I love working on it with him. Preparation for "some day."

So I'm sorry I've been MIA. Life has been busy, and I miss you all. I miss my writing. I think that, until I get my snazzy new iBook for Christmas and get myself on the Internet Superhighway at home, my blogging may be intermittant. I don't forget about you. But the piles on my desk keep growing, and I've got a couple newbies to work on.

Tonight, I'm leaving on time. Because life goes on whether the work gets done or not.

4th of July

2005-07-01T08:26:00.000-04:00

Charcoal smells different when hot barbeque sauce drips between the grill and sizzles on the coals. Hot, tangy, sweet. A poof of flavored smoke erupts from the drip, as it blackens quickly in the fire.

The meat hisses and clear juices stream from the fork holes. Creamy salads, crisp greens and seed-studded watermelon sit waiting on paper plates. The volleyball net is up and the frisbee and croquet set lie strewn across the lawn. Young green grass tickles between naked toes.

When the sky turns rosy, and then violet, and the glasses of lemonade and brown glass beer bottles drip condensation onto bare legs, the sparklers come out of their bent cardboard boxes. Flash, spark, and the cooling air is lit up with hot white confetti, swirling in the sky.

A warm hand brushes my hair, arm wraps my waist, and friends whisper memories and tease. darkness separates us from the neighbors, the cityscape, the world beyond and a bomb drops in the background. BOOM! We hush, necks crane to the sky as the earth vibrates and we are showered with neon red glitter. "oooh..... ahh......"

BOOM!

In my cube

2005-07-01T07:58:00.000-04:00

She's leaving next week, and I sit in the big conference room with the window onto South Station and I ready myself to be left behind.

A sense of impending panic looms, like an unspoken fear, under the surface of deadlines and three-hour meetings. She works hard, and knows how these people operate. We will have to pick up her role soon, and we are less people that we've been in years.

From eight to four in less than a year. Some voluntarily, some painfully not. I've watched each of them leave, listened to where the files are kept and what projects are still up in the air. Been let in on the secrets to their work days, getting by.

From my cube at the front of the row, I've watched them move on. We raise drinks in celebration and sadness at the little dark pub up the street, while the suits stumble blurry-eyed in front of the juke box.

Months go by, and we email. Gossip. Meet for drinks. And the work ebbs and flows.

But it isn't the same.

Virgin no more

2005-06-20T15:10:00.000-04:00

Vegas, Baby!

Damn, it took a lot out of me. I won't go into details about the "super-mucous" illness that Katie and I caught on the plane ride (believe me, if you didn't have to hear the hacking in person, count yourself lucky), the details of the down-n'-dirty hook-ups on the club floor (not me!), the all-hours-of-the-morning collapses into bed (can't remember the last time I stayed up for more than 24 hours!), the scantily-clad trapeeze artists, or the plane ride home (complete with 40+ twelve year olds and a heavily-medicated large man leaning on my right side).

There was no gambling.

But damn, did we girls have fun. We lounged by the lazy river. We danced all night. We made new friends. And all in 48 hours.

This ex-virgin is still a little sore from vegas... when can we do it again?!

Vegas Virgin

2005-06-10T14:50:00.000-04:00

Leavin' for my first Vegas experience tonight! Katie's bachelorette party is the perfect opportunity for eight girls to get out on the strip, find us some elvis impersonators, a cute cabana boy or two, and take our spin at the nickel slots.

Hang tight for news of ben affleck sightings or jackpot winnings! (More likely, the trip will entail sunburned skin and a seriously dented bank account).

Flying on Song for the first time as well, and I hear (ha ha) that it's amazing. Free headphones and competitve trivia with the other passengers. I have no idea how long the flight is - is Nevada on Mountain time or West Coast time?? - but at least it will be comfy. I've got a cheesy magazine and my plague book (great story, and not quite as morbid as it seems) to keep me entertained.

It's supposed to be in the high 90's all weekend - but at least it's a dry heat!

When We Were Girls

2005-06-09T14:19:00.000-04:00

The beginning of summer always makes me nostalgic for school. The days in early June when I sat in a small classroom with 20 other antsy kids, trying not to get caught staring out the window and counting down the minutes until the final bell rang.

It was warm enough to wear my new summer clothes, and the bees buzzed up through the cracked-open windows. We had final grades, final papers, and final exams coming up, but all we wanted to think about was our friend's pool and getting ice cream from McDonald's after class.

My friend Crystal had an above-ground pool in her backyard, and we would lay on our towels on the deck for hours, jumping in and out of the cool water and watching eachother for sunburns. Towels wrapped around our teenaged-girl bodies (self- aware and blooming into womanhood)we went into the air-conditioned house only for snacks or more iced tea. Her mom made sun tea in a giant glass container, letting the tea bags sit in sun-warmed water for hours, soaking up the taste of summer.

Warm, humid days and nights are ingrained in my soul as childhood and freedom and simple, silly times with my girlfriends. When I have to get up, brush aside the nostalgia, and put on my work clothes for another Thursday morning, a strange sad feeling works its way into my stomach. I'm not so far away from those simple summers, and the tug to run to Crystal's house and play in the pool still stalls me for a moment on my way out the door.

Now summer is weekends. And evenings, walking through the city and talking about my day at work. Dreams of France. Watering the seedlings in the backyard.

And remembering highschool, when summer days were lazy and long.

Pining for i-Book

2005-06-02T16:14:00.000-04:00

Keane is coming to Boston! I can't wait. They're playing in this little outdoor pavilion on the water, within walking distance of M.'s apartment. Ah, if only it's warm and sunny out on Saturday. A great live show, a couple of beers, great friends and a warm breeze as the sun goes down. THIS is what summer is made of.

It is becoming quickly apparent that I need the internet at home. Too many things to research, friends to email and blogs to update (sorry I've been slacking this week). Since the chances of me falling into enough money to buy the snazzy new i-book that I'm dreaming of and hooking myself up to the web anytime in the near future is slim-to-none, it's just going to have to wait. Oh, how I love the i-book, though. Once day, my friends. One day.

Until then, I'll just leave you on pins and needles waiting for the next exciting update to the HB Files. Patience is a virtue, and all that crap. Hey, the gods have lightened up a bit on the "send for Noah, cause we're gonna need another ark!" weather, and with the sunshine and hint of spring, I've been outside. Which, lacking a wireless connection and a snazzy new laptop, is not the most ideal place for blogging.

But it's great for planting little seeds, which are juuuu....st beginning to sprout. Grow strong, my little lettuces, onions, cantelopes (yep, you can grow 'em from seeds in your own backyard! or, rather, your boyfriends' backyard, as my case might be). Yes, we're growing a little garden together. Aren't we cute?

Hope you're all outside too, enjoying the spring before it turns into the blistering heat and humidity of summer in new England... next week.

Or if you're Kate, I hope you're hiding from the blistering (but dry!) heat of Colorado right now, safely in the comfort of some serious air conditioning. Dude - you guys took all our warm weather from the last month!

And apparently, I am only capable of writing about the weather. Damn. I promise a new topic for next blog.

Darth Tater

2005-05-26T17:28:00.000-04:00

I learned what a "Sith" is this week. I have to say, the new Star Wars movie is pretty entertaining (even if you don't know exactly what happened in the other ones).

Star Wars fan or not, the Darth Tater is pretty damn funny.

Hibernation

2005-05-26T17:17:00.000-04:00

Every fall, when the leaves gather in wet piles and the wind throws itself against my window, I get the urge to hibernate. To burrow into my down comforter in pjs, curl around myself, and snuggle warm and dry and completely still. I feel the urge for a glass of merlot, macaroni and cheese, and fuzzy slippers. Soft turtleneck sweaters. Lots of movies.

It is a cycle that ends when the coats go into storage and the sun coaxes me out into the fresh air. Spring breezes and summer heat on my arms. Sandy toes and salty skin and ice cream dripping on the sidewalk. The smell of fresh cut grass and charcoal hot in the grill.

Right now, i am re-entering my hibernation stage. Tonight, all I want are my pjs, my bed and a good action movie to fall asleep to. At work, I struggle to keep my eyes open, much less buzz around the office on deadlines. Motivation is zilch. Outside, the sky is always grey. Who knows whether it's morning or afternoon or quitting time. It's just... grey.

I know this is my third post in a row about the weather. I can't help it. It's been a strange, long week and I just need a little rest.

Rain rain rain

2005-05-24T14:33:00.000-04:00

Six days of sunshine in the entire month of May.

That's it, according to the weather-woman this morning. I'm thinkin' that anywhere sunny would be a nice place to move right about now. Who's interested?

Sun in Rochester

2005-05-24T14:15:00.000-04:00

I'm not going to tell you about the weather. It's there, it's awful, and I don't want to think about it. Seasonal Affective Disorder - yep, I've got that.

Saturday morning, sitting on the stone patio looking out over the quiet fields and still backyard pond, the morning sun settled onto my shoulders. I leaned back into the chair and the warmth. Under the table, I felt his hand gently on my knee while my mom floated down the steps with a platter of eggs and crispy potatoes in one hand.

Hours later, the patio was full of voices. The deep loud laugh of my uncle, my grandmother's quiet german lilt... the only thing missing was the chatter of my cousin's little boys. They stopped in yesterday but were on their way home to Massachusetts this morning.

Despite the sunscreen, my shoulders turned a glowing pink. Ah, the first sun of the season.

There were tadpoles in the pond. Bright turquoise blue birds and woodpeckers in the clump birch near the house. One frightened, but well-fed, bunny in the garage. It was a zoo of wildlife.

Among all the voices, the noises, the sounds... there was silence. It was the most calm I've felt in a while. Surrounded by family, friends, and the man I love.

Home

2005-05-19T13:13:00.000-04:00

Scary that I have the lyrics to "Momma I'm Comin' Home," in my head. I think I may have even heard them live once. It's a great story (note sarcasm). My birthday present from my highschool boyfriend - tickets to Ozzy.

"If he bites the head off of any small animals, I'm going home."

"Well, then you're walkin'."
(self-amused smirk).

No dead bunnies on stage, but I can't say it was a highlight in my concert-going career.

Anyway, headed home to Rochester this weekend to see the fam, including "Momma." Big birthday bash for my uncle, so the whole gang will be in town. Let the rowdiness, card games and general loving craziness of the Rupp family begin! Oh, and there will SO be a trip to Wegmans.

The Pink Flamingo

2005-05-19T09:29:00.000-04:00

Not a strip club in a dusty small town in middle america, nor a colada-scented breezy bar in the palm-tree tropics. Nope, this is a miniature plastic illuminated pink flamingo, sitting on top of our new assistant's computer. It welcomed me into the office this morning, and I grinned. It's the little things that hint at how my day will go - fun light-up plastic bird, or, in the case of yesterday, the spillage of a giant hot cup of tea all over my desk, chair, floor and skirt. Today started better than yesterday did.

One assistant is great. (save me from the giant piles of paper exploding all over my cubicle!) TWO assistants will be even better. This is why I've spent the last two days sifting through dozens of resumes, searching for the perfect blend of experience, attention to detail, and entry-level mindset. It's been an eye-opening experience. A few tips for the ranks of job seekers:

1) Spell check. It works wonders. Maybe even try out the grammar check, while you're at it.

2) Cover Letter - it's a must-have. No cover letter says "lazy," and no one wants lazy.

3) Why do you want the job? If you're a lawyer, or a tax accountant, or an elementary teacher in france - you may have professional experience, but does it relate? Tell me: why marketing? (rather than "anywhere but where I am now.")

4) DO NOT introduce yourself as "the future employee of (insert company name here)." Arrogance is not appealing.

5) If you are a critic, and have reviewed our website and would like to offer a review of the company's work, feel free to write us a letter. If you have any qualifications that make your opinion respectable, we'll enjoy hearing from you. IF, however, you are applying for an administrative assistant position, hold your critique at least until the interview. It probably won't even work for you then, but it definitely won't work in a cover letter. And whatever the content of your appraisal, don't use the phrase, "it's amazing what a little mind-power can do," when refering to our work.

I probably made some of these mistakes when I was fresh out of school. Looking for a job is a hard, humbling process. Being on the other end feels good for once. It's a little bit of an ego-trip, a little bit educational, and a little bit amusing. I'm just hoping somewhere in the stack of resumes is our new assistant, ready to lighten the piles on my desk and brighten our office with another pink-flamingo.

Showers and May... flowers?

2005-05-17T16:52:00.000-04:00

The weatherman explained this morning that the leaves aren't fully out yet because it's been too cold.

It is spring? Is it the middle of May?
Where has all the sunny weather gone?

At least it didn't pour all last weekend. Satruday was nice enough to plant some flowers and veggie's in M's garden. Yum - fresh, home-grown salad this summer.

But no beach days in sight. My skin is transparent and itching for a little of that golden glow (or, more likely, the pink heat of my typical burn). Ah, how I miss the smell of coconut oil and salty air. And no, the sea air of south boston after a cold rain and doesn't quite count. Even if it is nice, in it's own salty way.

Is it hot anywhere out there? Is anyone going to the beach? If you are, don't tell me, I don't really want to know. I'd be jealous. But really... where is the good weather going?

Shiney new toy

2005-05-13T16:37:00.000-04:00

I may not have a digital camera, an i-Pod or an i-book (yet!)... but I am the proud owner of a cute new silver LG cell phone! All of you Verizon folks - now i can call you for free.

I love my phone, but even more than that, i LOVE reading the manual and figuring out all of the things the little buttons do. Yes, I'm a dork. I don't care. Fun background pictures, changing the screen font, speakerphone and most importantly... the camera. (temporary substitute for a digital camera) Oh, the fun I'm gonna have. Me, my phone manual, and a whole weekend in front of me.

Flying

2005-05-12T10:19:00.000-04:00

After the bridge, let's sprint to the corner. Ready.... go!

The wind around me smelled of salt and harbor fish. Pleasant, in a warm beach-y evening sort of way. We ran side by side, keeping pace and breathing hard. He kept me going further than I would have by myself. It felt good to be moving.

As we rounded the pavement, water on both sides of us, the kite surfers sped across the bay. I had never seen them before - huge brightly-colored arcs lifted high into the air, floating above a rider in a wetsuit strapped into a board and surfing across the water. How do they get the kites up in the air, I wondered? And if they fall, if the wind drops or switches direction, how do they get back up?

Slowing to a walk, we gazed at the dozens of riders packing up for the night. Folding lightweight skeleton and rainbow skin into bags, I admired the coordination it must take to fly a kite and surf the waves all at once.

A plane flew directly overhead - Lufthansa, he could see the logo - and we thought about travel plans. Paris in the fall. Our growing list of cities and beaches. Staring up into the sky, following the jetstream away from the pink and orange horizon, we started to run again. Through the park, across the street and up to the bottom of the hill.

Thinking of flying kites and planes, our feet struck the pavement and we headed for home.

Misery

2005-05-12T08:20:00.000-04:00

Kathy Bates ties James Caan to the bed, after breaking his legs. Caan is the writer who can't move, forced to witness her insanity.

I feel his pain.

They hired me to write. To "create the VOICE for the company." Sometimes, they let me write. Most of the time, they are too much in love with their own words... I am relegated to the role of human spell check.

The problem? (besides my own growing dissatisfaction and frustration.) An example, my friends:

Like the existing, the plinth of the new is capped by a string course or water table which serves as a transition between the stone and the brick masonry above. Shadows are cast by this projecting course in the existing condition and likewise shadows are cast at this same course in the new. Positive becomes negative in the new however, as this course is recessed rather than projecting and becomes a four foot high structural channel to carry the brick above.

It continues. On and on for at least 15 pages. This, a case study submission to the most highly regarded national magazine in the industry, is intended to spotlight a recent project and hopefully get the editor interested in publishing a feature. Any guesses as to what kind of response we've gotten from the magazine? Shocker... not a word.

The sad thing is, I couldn't touch a word of it. Not the repetition, the technical lingo, the passive voice, the poor grammar. The "writer" was banned from writing, much less editing, this (painful) celebration of their own work.

My writing legs are useless, dragging behind me as I pull myself slowly toward the door. Trying to escape from the manic ego.

Maybe my next role could be Vegas. It seemed to work for James Caan.

Big Screen Meany

2005-05-10T09:34:00.000-04:00

Wesley Morris, you must have a dull, angry life.

Every review I can remember reading from this esteemed Boston Globe writer has been nasty and cutthroat. Unless we're talking foriegn cinema or documentaries that explore the hidden dramas of the child pornography underworld or the misery of human failure.

I love me some good subtitles every once in awhile. My inner culture hound craves that kind of movie sometimes - the kind that I am proud of myself for even knowing about, much less making the trip to attend, and when I walk out mentally and emotionally raw, I have learned something about myself and the world.

But sometimes, Wesley, a person needs a good ol' adventure flick. Or a romance. The kind of movie that movies were invented for - to escape from the drama of our real daily lives and lose ourselves in the excitement of the BIG SCREEN. Not all flashy Hollywood productions are inherantly bad. Some are better than others. Sometimes, I regret the loss of my precious $10. But if you belittle nearly every big movie house picture that crosses the screen, how are we supposed to predict which shows will be a lovely escape from a cold, rainy Sunday afternoon... and which will live forever in stories of "the worst movies I've ever seen?"

The Interpreter was a really good movie, Wesley. Dramatic and well-acted... Sean Penn has an impressive range of onscreen emotions and the scenes in the UN were something new to us all. It kept my attention, made me smile and sniffle once or twice, and brightened up a dreary afternoon.

You obviously don't agree:

'''The Interpreter,' a righteous but wrongheaded thriller, chokes on its well-meant outrage and leaves a moth-eaten plot and handful of nonsense characters on its way to a dopey finish. This is a Hollywood potboiler, with Sean Penn and Nicole Kidman, about African genocide that's set in and around the real United Nations headquarters," Wesley Morris, Boston Globe, 4/22/05

Loosen up a bit! Have a little fun! And help us readers out with a little more well-rounded view of cinema. You could tell me to go find another reviewer to read, there's plenty of them out there. Well, I like the Globe and it's a great paper. So I'll keep reading, I just haven't been paying much attention to following your reviews. It'd be nice, though, if you could look up at that screen through the eyes of your readers more often. Because good or just mediocre, a movie is about entertainment.

Fancy a Snog?

2005-05-06T16:46:00.000-04:00

British Airways has launched a hysterical new ad campaign for those who can't get enough of the endearing British slang.

Today's word of the day is Hoo Ha:

"In London it means a commotion, as in: 'See that hoo ha in the office today?'"

Smashing good fun.

College Daze

2005-05-05T15:14:00.000-04:00

These are the days I miss being in school. It's still a little cool outside, but the sun is warm on my toes and bright enough for sunglasses. I can FEEL summer coming.

There are students lying in the grass on Boston Common, preparing for finals, while I walk back to the office from lunch. I want to lie down next to them, pull out a book, and forget about the paperwork waiting on my desk. Lose myself in the sunny warmth and an afternoon nap in the grass.

zzzz......

Potty Talk

2005-05-03T17:11:00.000-04:00

The women's room in my office smells like aromatherapy oils today.

I am trying not to think too hard about why.

***

Also, there are only three stalls. For more than 50 women.

It is ALL the way on the other side of the office. It literally takes 3 minutes to walk there. (faster if you're running.)

Sometimes, we stand in line. Sometimes, people don't flush properly, or they leave the seat "damp." Hello, professional adult office etiquite... what the hell?

When I'm 60 Years Old

2005-05-03T16:21:00.000-04:00

What do you want to do before you die?

Slightly morbid question. But if you take the idea of death out of it, it really is kind of a personal challenge to understand what is most important to me. I've been aware, for as long as I can remember, of a very concrete personal fear of regret. More than most people I know, I look at situations and opportunities and ask myself, "will I regret this when I'm 60 years old, sitting back in my rocking chair, thinking back on my life?"

Will I regret doing it... but more often, would I regret NOT doing it.

This is all building off of the Today Show's "Live for Today" feature, and lesterhead's post today: What do you want to do before you die?

I know someone who wrote his list a while ago. It is a growing, changing list. No only is it meaningful for him, and a reminder of goals... it is a lovely view into the things he cares most about. It is personal, and hopeful, and recaptures a little bit of that idealism that we have so much of as children, and lose a bit along the way. It inspired me the first time he let me read it, and I fell in love with him a little bit more.

I want a list of my own. (We all know by now that I love making lists, anyway). I want it to be real and lasting - not just a fluff, in the moment dash-off of numbers and wild stunts. I have never had a five-year plan, a specific direction in mind for my life. In my head, the future has always been a white canvas... wide open to my changing whims, chance and where love takes me.

But now, I want a list. I want to sit on my porch one day, rocking away with grey hairs and a hot cup of tea, fingering a wrinkled, worn old paper list of things I'd done. Memories I made. And dreams fulfilled.

I'll start with #1. Get published. My novel, essays in magazines... I haven't figured it out yet. But I want my name in print, for all the world to see. And I want my words, my thoughts, to help someone else feel connected, and make them laugh because they're not alone.

On the Streets of NY

2005-05-02T15:40:00.000-04:00

I almost got myself run over by a speedy yellow cab a few times this weekend. There's just so much to look at in New York. Look up, look around... but not always looking ahead at the traffic. From the moment we walked out of Penn Station (heavy duffle bags in tow) I was mesmerized. There were foriegn languages all around me. Every kind of hairstyle and wardrobe, tall people and short people, clean, dirty, colorful, angry, talking and coughing, and moving through the streets. The buildings all reach to the clouds - strained my neck from looking up... up... up to the top.

Wonderful long weekend. Felt too short. Explored all the tourist spots - Rockefeller Center, Times Square, 5th Avenue. Found my second cousin's partner's jewelery store (he owns a chain in Europe and the US) called Wempe. Laughed at the white canvas and photos of man burning his own nipples at MOMA. Caught up with Mira and Robyn over snazzy dinners in Brooklyn and Hell's Kitchen.

I think, were I a New Yorker, I might easily feel lost. Lost in the sea of people. The millions and millions on streets, in apartments, out at dinner and dreaming in beds within these square miles. It is difficult enough, I think, to find your way to your own identity. But to find it, and hold on to it, when immersed in such an always moving and always changing sensory overload of life... Perhaps the only way is to tune it out. Stare at the sidewalk beneath your feet. Ignore the bumped shoulders and muscle your way to the train station. Bus stop. Home from work.

As a tourist for a weekend, I was mesmerized by the energy. The perspectives - looking down on the city from the Empire State Building, and walking up out of a basement-level wine bar onto a busy Brooklyn Street. It enveloped me. And now, that I am home, I find I am slowly getting back to my own thoughts. My interior monologue. It was absorbed for the weekend by the personality of the City.

Maybe this is why more New Yorkers seem to write blogs... ? Did "blogging" just catch on faster there, or is it needed more to help focus that little voice inside that gets swept up in all the excitement?

da City

2005-04-28T17:36:00.000-04:00

Off to NYC for the weekend!

List to see:

1) Robyn, Mira and Tom
2) Empire State Building (the tippy-top)
3) MOMA (the new one)
4) Electronica concert in goth club (don't ask)
5) Snazzy Thai restaurant
6) anywhere and anything we want...

and to relax. not be at work. have an adventure. and ride the train!
(yes, apparently I love lists.)

See y'all on Monday. I'll have stories...

Quitting Time

2005-04-27T14:36:00.000-04:00

Every ounce of patience straining to not explode.
Foot tapping, toes pushing against leather and bending inward in silent frustration.
Nails digging into palm.
Poker face. Poker face. Poker face.
Don't roll eyes.
Think "yoga."
Silently: "i hate you... i hate you ... you morons."

*****

marketing corporate messaging meeting.
11:30-1:00 this afternoon.
Lunch was served; sandwiches, chips and cookies.

Senior Management speaks:

"We like the style of the bulleted list - but not the style, really, because it's too dry, like a powerpoint. (individually said, but collectively agreed) we don't really like any of the three versions you've put together... but some of the information is in there. It's in #2, which is too much like all of our competitiors. But it's really the voice we like. sort of. well, it kind of has too much of an academic sound. But if you bring some of the ideas into the style of #3 - the bullets. That short, concise idea. No one reads anything these days! The bullets list will tell them all about us! But definitely not #1. Too folksy. Too "cute." Our clients would never want to read us like that. But if you have to pull something decent out of that one... well... there's really a lot of good statements in there. You know, some good paragraphs... IF you take them into the style of #3 (again, the bullets). But we really want to emphasize that the bullets are too much like PowerPoint. No one will pay attention. They'll tune out.

So, you can work with that. Right?"

*********

GRRRRRRRRRRR.

Stink Update

2005-04-27T08:46:00.000-04:00

The stink in my apartment remains a mystery... but it's fading and almost gone. Thank GOD.

M. suggested that bigger rodent probably ate the smaller, rotting dead rodent in the wall. EW. As long as they stay in the walls, though, and the air is breathable, I'll try not to think too hard about what goes on behind those bricks.

No scurrying noises at night, like in my last apartment. That's one good thing.

YUM

2005-04-26T13:37:00.000-04:00

Fun list for today:

1) Dark Chocolate Hershey's Kisses - dark chocolate AND purple wrapper. Love it.

2) Tiny white blossoms on every tree in Beacon Hill. They all lean into the road, forming an archway through red brick walls and sunbeams.

3) Train ride to NYC! This weekend! Get to see Robin & (hopefully) Mira, check out the new MOMA, finally get to the top of the Empire State Building and act out various scenes from Sleepless in Seattle and King Kong with M., eat out at a snazzy Thai place, and wear black leather boustier and spike collar to hard core electronic concert.

4) Nerves tingling for follow up phone call from professional interested in meeting. (Vagueness is intentional)

Excuses

2005-04-26T13:22:00.000-04:00

"I'm working from home today," is not a valid excuse for not showing up to work. Especially when you're the creative director / only graphic designer / one of four remaining marketing staff in a previously bustling 8-person crew.

Also, especially if you never work on Mondays, and leave early to pick up the kids every Tuesday and Thursday. I don't care that your wife is a principal. Get your ass to work.

I also take issue with "I have a family / kids" excuse for getting out of work. While I may not yet have that kind of responsibility, I do have a life. Shouldn't matter that it's often just grabbing dinner with a friend, doing laundry, or running along the Charles River. These activities may not have official "pick up" times like children at day care, but they're just as valid a reason to leave work.

I do put in my hours. Meet my deadlines. And call in (rarely) with a real excuse: "I'm sick," "Doctor Appointment." Whatever the case might be. Somehow, I think "I'm working from home," wouldn't fly. Maybe because they know I don't have kids, or a myriad of "family emergencies," but maybe I should try it someday. What's good for the goose, and all that.

What's That Smell?

2005-04-25T10:53:00.000-04:00

It sure ain't scotch.

A line of registered guests, snazzy in their post-work apparel, stood in line through the hotel lobby and up the stairs toward the room that held the free booze. Or so they told us. We never actually saw any Johnnie Walker, much less tasted a sampling of their red, blue, black or gold labels. After a lengthly waiting-for-bus, transfering to train, standing in line process, the irritating rep for Johnnie stood at the top of the stairs and told the line that the free scotch tasting event was at full capacity.

Why bother registering, you may ask? I asked the same thing. Apparently, it gets you on the list. A LONG list, by the way, that does not get you into the actual event.

Johnnie, you stink.

When you receive our letter of complaint about your poor marketing tactics, I expect a saved seat at the next tasting - with my name on it. And a bottle of the good stuff in my mailbox.

***

Speaking of stink.

Something died in my apartment.
It isn't under the bed, or the couch, or the stove the refridgerator the desk or in the closet. It isn't bad garbage. Or stale water. Or a large bug that crawled into the ceiling light cover and is slowly cooking from the heat of the bulbs.

Checked all those.
(yes, it smells that bad)

It reeks in the air, in the middle of the room. Robin wondered if perhaps my upstairs neighbor perished. That could explain the stench... and he didn't answer to a knock on the door.

(gulp) Anyone have noseplugs I could borrow, until my landlord sends a professional sniffer to scout out the foul stink?

Happy Earth Day

2005-04-21T17:28:00.000-04:00

Happy Earth Day, all.
Pick up some litter or thank your recycling-truck driver tomorrow.

I'm heading up to a park in NH to help a team from Timberland fix up the grounds. Not sure exactly what I'm in for, but I got a cute T-shirt (thank you M!) and will get to have my hands in dirt all day. ah... supposed to be sunny and almost 60, and being good to the planet will feel good.

Especially when the planet gives back afterward, in the form of char-grilled BBQ.
yum.

"Or-ange" You Ready for Dessert?

2005-04-21T16:06:00.000-04:00

I've owed Robin this recipe forever, and figured others might be interested as well. I haven't made it yet - so let me know how it turns out - but it sounds yummy and I've held on to it for the right occasion for years. Credit goes to someone named Milliken (apologies, but I don't have a magazine name or the creator's last name - if anyone knows it, I'll be happy to give credit where it's due!)

Roasted Orange Cakes

1/3 C golden raisens
1/3 C dark rum
8 to 10 large navel oranges
1 1/2 C cake flour (not self-rising)
1/8 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 stick (1/2 C) unsalted butter, softened
1 C sugar
2 large eggs
3/4 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp finely grated fresh orange zest
3/4 C well-shaken buttermilk

Preheat over to 450 degrees F. Simmer raisins and rum in small saucepan, stirring occasionally, until rum is absorbed, about 5 minutes. Cut a very thin slice off bottom of each orange so it will stand without rolling. Cut a 3/4-inch-thick slice off top of each, removing any flesh from tops and reserving them. Remove as much flesh as possible from orange with a sharp knife and a spoon (reserving flesh for another use if desired), leaving an empty shell. Sift together flour, baking soda and powder, and salt. Beat butter and sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition, then beat in vanilla and zest. Alternately fold in flour mixture and buttermilk in batches, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Fold in raisins. Fill orange shells 2/3 full with batter and put tops in place. Wrap oranges individually in foil and arrange on a baking sheet. Bake in middle of oven 50 minutes. Transfer oranges in foil to a rack. Remove foil when cool enough to handle, then cool oranges on racks at least 15 min. Serve warm or at room temperature with vanilla ice cream.

YUM!
enjoy :)

On the Level

2005-04-21T12:07:00.000-04:00

It's a good thing I don't have satin sheets.

I would have kept sliding right into his side all night long. As it was, the muscles in my back are a wee bit sore today, after unconsciously struggling against the concave tilt of my mattress.

It's tilted. Or more correctly, the floor tilts (and my ceiling, while we're talking flaws). 300 square feet of space, and you think they could have made it level. But no, I got out my little tool-kit level one night (yes, I own a tool kit. aren't you proud?) and measured the bed. Even with the mattress pad and covers to confuse the little bubble in the neon yellow liquid, the bed is quite clearly tilting up toward the window.

Its all about the wheels. The bed frame sits on wheels, which sit on top of risers. Which sit on top of a crooked floor.

(sidebar) A girl in a studio needs all the storage space she can find. When the under-the-bed space quickly filled up, I moved on to my car's trunk. Everything is packed. So the risers, while oh-so freshman dorm, are seriously functional and necessary. Besides that, they aren't the problem. It's the damned crooked floor. The risers do make it a bit more precarious to straighten things out, though.

I took two wheels off of the higher side. Voila! A little bit more even on the window side.

However, the bed now sinks, in a concave fashion from the alarm side in toward the middle. The alarm side is my side.

McGyver time. Duck tape, card board, leftover 2x4s... it's time to jimmy this thing level. Cause the satin sheets are kind of tempting.

Can You See Me Now?

2005-04-20T15:06:00.000-04:00

The damn eye doctor is trying to screw me out of a LOT of money.

I need new contacts. Have been wearing my last "one month" pair for three months now. I ordered four boxes on 1800contacts.com. Their voicemail this week said my prescription had expired, and they can't fill my order. damn.

Downtown Eye Associates would like to charge me $90 for a mandatory annual eye exam. My insurance HMO Blue (damn HMOs) only covers an eye exam every two years.

"yeah... a lot of people have been complaining about that policy."

The secretary agrees with me. great. But I have to have an exam anyway, even though I can see fine with the prescription I already have. It's just that the film of dust is making me look like I just ate a couple of those "funny" brownies from our office kitchen.

OK, fine.

"And we'll need to update your contact prescription. That's $42."

On top of the $100 it will cost me for a year supply of new contacts. What they have to do to update my prescription - other than putting pen to paper and writing the damn thing out - is a mystery. But I'm sure it's worth $42.

So, another month of waiting and $200+ out of my already-thin wallet, and the laser eye surgery is starting to look really good. Too bad this same doctor told me I should hold off on it - the technology isn't to the point where it would be a good fit for my "eye care needs."

I get the feeling this "practice" is a lot more of a BUSINESS than I'd like to believe. But unless I become enamored of my glasses sometime in the near future (they mean bedtime to me, and therefore sleepyness), or squinting becomes a new "look," I don't think there's a damn thing I can do about it.

Dear Diary, I'm Back

2005-04-20T11:05:00.000-04:00

OK, ok ok.

To you readers who have written to complain about my disappearance from the Blogger world, I'm giving myself a kick in the butt and getting back to the keyboard. While crawling out from the deep, dark hole that is winter, I'm not even a little bit surprised that we've seemed to leap right over the phenomenon of Spring into the New England summer. 80 degree sunny days followed immediately by cold, pounding rain.

I missed you all too.

While my excuses are lame and along the lines of "oh, we all get so busy," I will claim work upheaval and chaos (bringing on impending changes, which I will leave as a mystery for the time being), falling in love, and an active social life with friends who are quickly leaving to places that are too far away.

No "Dear Diary, this is what I've been up to for the last few weeks," post here. My daily battle with the growing laundry and dirty dish piles, family dramas and shopping treasures aren't really the good stuff. But these are:

Green. leaf buds and daffodils blooming through Beacon Hill on mornign strolls toward the office.
Cape Cod in sweaters and flip flops, a blanket and the one I love.
Lobster legs.
A brand-spankin'-new portfolio.
Warm breeze and flowers in the city.
Lunch in the park, even when the grass is blocked off for unknown reasons and our bums are precariously squeezed onto narrow sidewalk curbs, salad in lap.
The promise of something new: new flowers, new adventures, new memories, new jobs and new friends.
Going home. I miss you, family and oldest friends. See you soon. May 20. Be there.

I'm back. And I promise to be better. But you have to promise to comment - it's the only way I know there's someone else there on the other end.

April Fools

2005-04-01T13:51:00.000-05:00

Jack O'Lanterns, Candy Canes, Valentine's notes and New Years noisemakers. I love holidays. The traditions, the excitement. Presents and decorations. I especially love Christmas for it's two holidays in one - my birthday, and annual day of getting gyped out of a fair number of presents (Heather, this is your birthday AND christmas present in one!). Cheers.

For some reason, though, I've never gotten into April Fools Day. I'm not a big prankster. No "kick me" signs on my babysitters' backs as a kid. No whoopie cushins. (Although I did love the Harry Potter jelly beans in our office last year. The looks on the manager's faces when they tasted "puke" and "snot" were priceless.)

I definitely have a streak of mischief in me (all good-hearted, of course. I had enough mean jokes played on me in middle school - just like every other shy, glasses-wearing awkward kid - to give me a strong moral objection to un-funny jokes). But I do love a good teasing.

But a day set aside for foolin'?
Never much caught on with me. But I love when other people get creative.

I sat down at my desk this morning - yet another insanely busy work day - and shifted my mouse around. Nothin' doing - my cursor blinked on the screen, frozen in place. Damn IT. Stupid computer. I banged the thing on the desk, pulled on the cord. Silently cursed at the unmoving screen.

Flipped the thing over, and a small yellow post-it note covering the rolley-ball smiled up at me:
"April Fools :)" it said.

hee hee hee.
It's April. It's spring.
And I'm starting today a happy fool.

Not Topless

2005-03-18T15:58:00.000-05:00

Tapas and sangria make for a happy girl.
(garlic shrimp and lobster ravioli - mmm...)

Giddy and silly, actually. Probably more the sangria than the tapas that caused the uncontrollable fits of giggles.

Also the tickler, with mischief in his blue eyes.

Hi-Ho Cherry-O

2005-03-18T12:34:00.000-05:00

The worn orangish carpeting in our livingroom kept the board from laying completely flat. Every time our little fingers reached out for a small, plastic red berry, the whole game was at risk of tilting a bit too far and scattering across the floor. Or one of us would spin the dial with a child's wild enthusiam, smacking the board and sending plastic pieces sailing off the cardboard and into the hairy carpet.

If mom stepped on one of those pieces, there'd be trouble. The game would end and that night would probably be spent cleaning. Vacuuming up any other ingrained small toys (a danger to barefoot mothers and running children). Dusting (my job). Washing windows (also my job).

That was just the living room, though. If mom really got going, we might move on to cleaning the bathrooms (ew. and somehow also my job), sweeping and mopping the sagging linoleum kitchen floor (banishing scott and i to the living room for what seemed like HOURS while the soapy water dried to a dull sheen. somehow, this was exactly when i realized i was STARVING and needed a snack.). Emptying the dishwasher (which scott might do, if he could be convinced).

Hours later, we all would have forgotten why the cleaning spree began, and one of us would step on a plastic berry that the rumbling old vacuum had left behind.

Hi-Ho Cherry-O wouldn't come off the shelf for a few days after that. It would sit in the torn cardboard box (almost flat because someone sat on it). Wedged between Candy Land and Shoots & Ladders, and later, Operation! and Monopoly and Risk.

We didn't like playing games "properly" on the kitchen table... preferring to lounge on the living room floor, little stomachs pressed into the carpet and pillows under our chins. When our propped-up elbows were red with fabric imprints, we switched to sitting indian style. (I've heard recently that the kids don't call it "Indian-style" anymore. Not politically correct. Maybe you need to clarify American-indian or east asia Indian. Or maybe it's not right to label a sitting style by culture. I still think "indian-style" when I say "cross-legged" though.) Sometimes in winter, when the wind blew snow drifts against the front door and whistled down the chimney, we lounged in front of a glowing fire and played cards.

The lessons learned were subtle. Addition. Subtraction. Colors. Following Directions. Talking to your brother without someone ending up crying. I don't remember learning how to count from playing Hi-Ho Cherry-O (although I'm sure it helped, and now when I consider giving a game to my cousin's little boys, I weigh the educational factors, the lessons "aunt" Heather can provide).

Mostly, I remember evenings with my mom and brother, giggling and talking and camping out on the floor... hoping that the cherries stay on the board, so the game could go on forever and we'd never have to clean up.

Cracks in the Piggybank

2005-03-15T14:31:00.000-05:00

RUMOR:

Out of the mouth of the CFO:
"Our finances are the worst I've ever seen them."

FACT:

No bonuses for almost 2 years.

I was registered for a copywriters conference in Boston this month. Today, the CFO ordered my registration cancelled. Along with several other conference registrations. Apparently, we can't afford the $700.

Our marketing expenses must be approved on a weekly basis by the CFO. Otherwise, we are instructed to proceed "as if" the expenses will be approved... it will just be a surprise at the last minute.

The Firm is opening a China office. (Where is this money coming from?)

There is a Parters' retreat this week. (Rumors abound)

*********

This won't be the first week that I double check with the bank to make sure my paycheck was deposited. How does this company survive?