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First Snow

Boston got its first messy splash of snow last night, with two inches of the white stuff followed by a day of steady drizzle. I woke up this morning to the sound of snow shovels steadily scrapping the sidewalk, and I sighed contentedly at this quintessential sound of winter. Then, an ungodly noise ripped through the calm. Shit. One of the neighbors has a snow blower.

The snow complicated the first day of my new commute. I now take a regular Boston subway line into the downtown instead of the blood-pressure-ratcheting commuter rail. To get to the subway, I must walk for 25 minutes on a dedicated bike path. Including the walk from the subway to my office, that’s more than an hour of walking a day. With such an active commute, I’m forgoing a gym membership and investing in fashionable weather-proof gear.

For now, all I have is my rugged hiking boots, which did serve me well as I trotted through the slush on the bikepath this morning. Reportedly, there’s vicious feuds between the various clans of mobility that crowd the path (bikes versus feet versus bladers versus dog walkers). There are admonishing signs every 100 feet: Keep to the right of the path! Today though, I had the path all to myself, which was good because I couldn’t tell left from right from middle.

Whatever your natural feelings are about snow, they are intensified during the year’s first snowfall, even if it’s a paltry two inches that dissipated in the rain by the time you hit the streets. Many of my co-workers stayed home. One who braved it to the office told me “I had to get out of my house. My sons are going bonkers.”

Me, I agree with Calvin and Hobbes: Getting an inch of snow is like winning 10 cents in the lottery.

Posted in Massachusetts.

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Moved

I change residences roughly once every year and a half. And it gets harder every time. The physical rigors of hauling my possessions all over town is still bearable, but realizing the crappiness of my furniture is dismaying. Surely there is some metaphor to be divined when your furniture can be readily disassembled into planks and poles.

The move went very well. We started loading the 16′ moving truck at 10am and finished loading at 1pm (breaking for a snack of leftover wine, cheese, and stale bread – “like French laborers”). Then we drove to our new place and started unloading at 2pm. Unfortunately, while our new apartment is simply charming, it’s only accessible by creaky, winding, narrow staircases with oddly spaced stairs. We finished at 6pm, returned the truck, and then partied with a feast of healthy-style Chinese food and rum-spiked juice.

Oh, how my muscles ached this morning, not only my arms and back, but my quadriceps and calves. I felt as if I had hiked Mount Washington carrying a box of books. Since my mattress was laid on the floor, I struggled to overcome the pain and stand up. How I longed for my bed frame!

But I stood up and started unpacking. There are kitchen cabinets to be filled, built-in dining room casework to be lined, and closets to be occupied. And there are many planks and poles to be assembled, to be fastened together with wood pegs and screwed with hex keys, so that life may abide.

Posted in Existence.

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LAST! NATICK! POST!

Tonight is my last night in Natick, so before the PowerBook is slipped into its traveling case to be whisked away to our new apartment tomorrow, I thought I’d say goodbye to Natick.

So long, you dopey suburban mall town, with your fraying utility infrastructure, your abundance of Chinese and Italian restaurants, your steadfast refusal to institute curbside recycling, and your fierce townie pride. So long, Natick. I’ll miss your, um, yeah.

Posted in Massachusetts.

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Value Proposition

Today I attended Day One of a mid-sized, two-day technology conference sponsored by a business analyst group. I was sent by my company’s C-level folks to be their “eyes and ears” (read: note-taker). Not being told to be a “mouth,” I kept quiet in the back of the basement ballroom of the glitzy harborside hotel, listening to presentations and taking notes (a highlight: A Microsoft executive discussed acquiring start-ups like most people talk about buying shirts.)

The crowd was 90% men between the ages of 35 and 50… a real power crowd, fueled by buffets of refreshment food, an endless stream of beverages, and a lavish lunch. (Tomorrow I’ll hide tupperware in my purse.) It wasn’t until the cocktail hour that people asked me the question I’d been dreading all day: “What do you do?” I smiled mysteriously and claimed “They haven’t invented a title for what I do.”

Indeed, I felt mysterious all day. I stuck out. The bartender called me “Young lady” twice, and not in that “humoring a golden girl” sort of way. As one of the few women under forty, and the only blond, I got more than a few curious stares, and was evidently sized up as being not important enough to talk to except in the presence of cocktails. Wink wink. That’s my value proposition.

Posted in The 9 to 5.

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Pride and Punishment

I would like to publicly apologize to several family members in Philadelphia. On Thanksgiving, when we were discussing the Patriots / Eagles game that took place last night and that the Patriots narrowly won, my family predicted that the middling Eagles would challenge and even topple the almighty Patriots. “The Eagles are hungrier,” my family said. “The Eagles have potential,” my family said. “Feeley is a great quarterback, better than McNabb” my family said.

I offered polite smack talk, the type that is normal and expected when conflicting football allegiances face off in congenial surroundings. I almost bet my brother $100 that the Patriots would win by 23 points, which was the incredible Eagles-Patriots point spread offered in Las Vegas, but I backed off, pretending to respect their belief that the Eagles couldn’t possibly bomb that badly.

But deep-down, I was laughing at them, uproariously. My poor family, with their fanciful notions that the Eagles could challenge the Patriot’s obvious supremacy. I wished that the Patriots and Eagles were playing on Thanksgiving, so I could gleefully hoot in their faces every time that Tom Brady threw a touchdown to Randy Moss.

So last night, as I watched the Eagles aggressively battle the Patriots, I realized that this was my payback for sitting at the Thanksgiving table and pitying my deluded family. Even though the Patriots won, the Eagles came so close that, this Christmas, when the subject of the Patriots versus Eagles arises, I will be eating humble pie.

Posted in Americana.

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Yellow

Usually by Thanksgiving, the trees in Pennsylvania are bare, and the fallen leaves have turned into shriveling piles of detritus that rustle and shift in the wind. But this year, there were a good number of maples and oaks still shedding richly-hued yellow leaves on the landscape. Below is a canoe poised along the canal in New Hope, PA. Below that is a lovely maple along the banks of the Perkiomen Creek at Mill Grove in Audubon, PA. Both pictures were taken by Mr. P.

newhopecanoe

perkiomon

Posted in Trips.

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Buy, buy, Americans Buy

As the Thanksgiving weekend winds down and the door-busting Black Friday sales abate, I urge America to make haste to the malls, the shopping centers, the internet commerce sites, and shop yourselves into a frenzy. Buy more than you think you need. Buy indiscriminately and lavishly. Buy until your credit card’s magnetic strip is worn and useless. Buy, buy, buy.

This may sound uncharacteristic of me, but I am quite concerned that the product peddlers are using sneaky market reverse psychology to trap us in a quagmire of emotional impluses.

My suspicions were aroused when I heard the media outlets reporting on the holiday shopping season using strange themes like consumer restraint. The headlines said that one-third of Americans are planning to spend less during the 2007 Christmas season out of logical concerns about the contracting economy, softening house prices, high fuel costs, a weak dollar, and an environment that is buckling under humanity’s consumption. All this bad news has many Americans believing that this is the year that they can finally exhale. That the mad consumer frenzy to acquire goods is over. That we no longer have to spend ourselves into debt to show our appreciation for our loved ones.

Many Americans have taken cues from the media and eschewed the Black Friday sales. They are proudly exercising self-control, taking on less debt, and reducing their overall materialism. And in the coming weeks, Americans will throw themselves into the pure joy of the Christmas season. They’ll plan practical gifts. They’ll donate to charity in other people’s names. They’ll plan hand-made crafts or baked goods to distribute. They’ll regift without shame. They’ll shake their heads at the commercials that blithely beseech them to spend big bucks on that perfect holiday gift.

And then, with about ten days to go, the tone of the media will change. Suddenly, the economy is fantastic. Holiday spending is up. The stores are packed and shelves are emptying. And Americans will survey their meager and pathetic clutch of presents, and imagine Mother unwrapping the second-hand DVDs of Will Farrell movies, and Father beholding the large Costco container of pretzel bits. America will collectively freak out, head to the mall, and outspend themselves on full-price products to rectify their initial spate of miserliness, resulting in a banner year for retailers and record levels of consumer debt.

So spend now, before you’re conned into going for broke with 5 shopping days left…

Posted in Americana.

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What I’m Really Thankful For

Yesterday I declared my thanks for receiving less search query hits involving naked Meredith Vieira. Ironically, this declaration of thanks will result in more search query hits involving naked Meredith Vieira. Happy freaking Thanksgiving.

If I may get serious for a moment: I have a lot to be thankful for this year. The Patriots are 10-0. The end of the Bush regime is in sight. The spinning instructor who plays too much country-rock music is on maternity leave. I am employed, healthy, and still reasonably good-looking.

And there’s Mr. P. Some readers of this web site with whom I’m not personally acquainted may wonder if Mr. P is a real man, and not some fictitious French foil to my inner malcontent American. But he is so very, very real. And after countless walks in the woods, glasses of wine, courses of cheese, cups of coffee, kisses, movies, billiards, mountain tops, campfires, apres-skis, impromptu language lessons, and general lovey-doveyness…. Mr. P has consented to ask me to be his wife.

Meaning that, some time next year, I will be Mrs. P.

Posted in Existence.

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Gobble Gobble Googles

Yes, it’s a special heart-warming Thanksgiving edition of my favorite search engine queries that brought people to this web site to huddle in the warmth of my gravy-like wisdom!

In the past week, I’ve received over 50 hits involving Squanto and Tisquantum, who I wrote about in Thanksgiving 2006 after reading 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus.

50 hits for Squanto and Tisquantum! That’s twice the number of hits than I received from people seeking nude photos of Meredith Vieira. It appears that I may be turning an important corner on the road to respectability. And for that, I’m very, very thankful.

INTERROGATIVE
what food makes girls horny
what does succotash look like
how do i get marker off my chanel purse
how is the calvin klein advert for euphoria a myth
does meredith viera have penis envy
what is the wc fields quote about spending a year in philadelphia
why was burger king closed in central square
what does green discharge mean for a dog
how to use eyelash curler for thin straight eyelashes
who was the first us president to prove the pythagorean theorum

MISSPELLED
texas tallest mountain rages
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how any cars cross the zakim bridge
jeusus freaks
candace cameroon
common tu tappel
como tappel tu translated
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pros and cons of al gore of the green house affect

CELEBRITY & BUSINESS & PRON
peace sign darfur tee shirt designed by celebrity
elizabeth baxter birney nude
idiot remark on maury povich
green day’s favorite food
pillsbury doughboy controversy poking stomach
finagle a bagel upward mobility
brussel sprouts and chanel
going green environment and neiman marcus
holocaust designer plates crate barrel
orgy in brussel -gay
looking for fat women to love and to have sex.com
porn with tentacles and pie
sexy pulpous women
horny mennonite women pics

EVERYTHING ELSE
swiss chard poisonous
fluorescent muscleman paintings
john milton quote tattoo
semantic pox
norristown sucks
big mac methacton
santa claus hairstyles
egg nog lip gloss
funny stair injury pics
“green green”

Posted in Miscellany.

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The Good Old Days, When We Were Literate

The National Endowment for the Arts just released a deeply grim report analyzing over two dozen studies on American reading habits. And the findings? Shocking to absolutely fucking no one: young Americans are reading less for fun, testing lower, writing worse, and growing into adults who can’t read or write for shit.

(Pride demands I interrupt to clarify that the grammar in the previous sentence was butchered on purpose. My own command of English remains unimpeachable, if occasionally ornery.)

I could mount the high horse and wax on about my lifelong love affair with books. But let’s not get precious—I read because there wasn’t much else to fucking do. My teenage options were: kung-fu reruns on UHF, a two-year-old VHS from the sticky end of Blockbuster, or listening to the same ten CDs on repeat. So I read.

But let’s be real: if teenage me had Wi-Fi, a phone, and a Spotify account, she wouldn’t have been curled up with Oscar Wilde and William Burroughs. She’d have been trolling eSpin the Bottle for eyelinered dirtbags, fantasizing about being a Suicide Girl, and pirating every moody band Pitchfork ever overhyped.

So yes, kids today don’t read. But it’s not because they’re worse than we were. It’s because they have better distractions.

Posted in Culture.

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