pasquinade

Long Time No Blog

2009-05-10T21:10:00.003-04:00

Oh. Hello there.

When we last spoke, I was just getting into the swing of my new job at City Hall. The snow has since melted, the leaves are back on the trees, and things continue to progress well. Whether my boss is cleaning up the Boston Common or trying to save the mounted police unit, it's been wickedly busy.

Personally, things continue to move along. My family is still good. Spent a lovely Mother's Day weekend in Rhode Island with them. Despite my brother's hacking cough and the waves of pollen blowing across the yard, it was great to relax at home. Because I'm still ham-handedly managing my finances, I gave the gift of a very clean bathroom to my mother. She seemed to appreciate it, although years of watching TV have conditioned me to believe that I cannot express my love for her without dropping a few hundred bucks on nice gifts.

I've also hopped on the Celtics bandwagon as of late, even going so far as to go to Game 1 of the most recent series, which was the first playoff game I've ever seen live. I am keeping tabs on the Bruins. Really, my favorite thing about playoff hockey is this commerical. It makes me laugh every time.

I'm still not going to post regularly here. Just wanted to say hi to the few of you who've left kind comments recently, and to assure you I am not dead and that all is well. Oh, and Go Sox, Celtics, and Bruins.

It's On!

2009-02-02T19:46:00.003-05:00

Just wanted to give you the heads-up that my Blogging Hiatus Party is on for tomorrow.

What: Um, it's my Blogging Hiatus Party.

When: 8 p.m. until we shut the place down. Or I want my jammies. Whatever comes first.

Where: Alchemist Lounge, Jamaica Plain. There's parking, it's near a bus line, and it's walkable from the Orange Line.

Who: Me. And, um, some other people. Hopefully my new boss and some of my peeps. And no stalkers, please.

Why: Because I'm giving up the blogging for the time-being, and want to thank you for reading. Also, I like the Alchemist Lounge and don't want to sit around watching TV on a Tuesday night.

Housekeeping

2009-01-23T16:54:00.002-05:00

Hi. Do you miss me yet?

Just wanted to pass along a couple items of note. If you've been missing my ugly mug, you can see it at 8 p.m. on NewsNight with Jim Braude on NECN for the weekly news quiz. I'm a little apprehensive since I haven't been keeping tabs on non-city-related news like I used to, but hope to bring the noise to Newton.

Secondly, I'm happy to announce my Blogging Hiatus Party has been tentatively scheduled for Tuesday, Feb. 3 at 8 p.m. at the Alchemist Lounge in Jamaica Plain. The owners of the bar have kindly offered to reserve a section of the bar for us, so we must repay them by drinking their beer and snacking on their foodstuffs. I want all of you to come—journalists, bloggers, readers, friends, politicos, random hobos—and celebrate my new job while lamenting the lack of content on this and other Boston-area blogs. If something changes, I'll let you know.

Gone Communicatin'

2009-01-13T23:12:00.004-05:00

So. That happened.

As you may know, I've got a new gig communicating for City Council President Mike Ross. Since shortly after my unfortunate layoff, I've been doing some consulting for him, and it turned into a full-time position. Which is great news for my bank account, but less than stellar for pasquinade.

I love blogging. I relish reading your comments. Yes, even the nasty ones. Although my family is less than thrilled by my willingness to talk about my life here (my mother still prefaces some statements with "don't blog this"), I've really enjoyed oversharing with strangers. When I was making textbooks or acting as my own media personality, that was appropriate. Now that I'm representing a politician, it's less so.

This means pasquinade will largely go un-updated for a while. I'm under contract to write for NESN.com for a while longer, so you'll see my sports-related thoughts there. When I'm officially done, I'm hoping to have a Blogging Hiatus party at a location to be named later to thank you all for reading. (By gracing you with my presence, that is. I was unemployed, remember. I can't afford open bar or snacks.)

With all the challenges facing Boston, this gig will be an interesting adventure. I hope you'll keep tabs on what's coming out of City Hall in the next few months, and I'll be talking to you soon.

The Rules of Friending on Facebook

2008-12-30T22:39:00.003-05:00

I learned a few weeks back that I had some security preference on Facebook checked so that my name didn't come up when people searched for it. After I lost my job, I figured I should probably make myself available through all appropriate channels for the new media-savvy, and opened myself up to the teaming refuse of the Internet.

But what I hoped would turn into a networking opportunity has become a forced march down memory lane. Right now, I'm debating what to do with the friend requests waiting to be processed. One of them is from a girl who threatened to fight me in seventh grade after I called her a slut. Another is from a girl who barely gave me the time of day in high school. The third is from some distant cousin who reports all my comings and goings on MySpace to the maternal grandmother with whom I have little contact.

I feel like there's no set etiquette for how to proceed here. After an informal poll of my friends, many subscribe to the belief that if they didn't like someone a decade or two ago, they shouldn't give them access to information. But what if my classmates have changed as much in the ensuing years as I have? Shouldn't I let the petty shit that I said when I was young and foolish go?

And family is an especially fraught battle. I friended a distant relative on my father's side, but my grandmother had already passed along my phone number because we live in the same part of Somerville. I added my brother because he pretty much knows what's going on with me, but probably wouldn't add my mother if she joined, if only to spare her the shame of seeing the large percentage of my pictures which feature me holding some form of alcohol.

One of my friends also believes this is a good plan, and explained to her mother that she wouldn't be friending her. Another cohort encouraged her mother to join in order to foster hobbies other than "obsessing over her grandchildren and drinking."

So here are the rules as I see them: If you're not comfortable adding someone, ignore their request. If they keep bugging you and you don't mind burning that particular bridge, explain politely that you'd rather not add them. If it becomes an issue where you might not want to piss the person off, add them with limited access to your information. That way the family reunion isn't too awkward, either from hurt feelings or when that aggressive relative starts talking about that picture of you singing "Copacabana" at Sissy K's Monday night karaoke.

Not that I have any pictures like that, mind you.

Further Adventures in Car Ownership Borrowing

2008-12-29T17:17:00.004-05:00

It was bound to happen eventually. After the Chicken Grease Incident of Aught Eight, my grandmother's car has suffered another injustice.

Its first parking ticket.

Which would have been fine if I'd forgotten about street cleaning, or if I'd left the car parked in a resident spot downtown. But it was just sitting in what I thought was a perfectly legal spot at the top of my street. When I'd parked it yesterday, I noticed it was a little close to the crosswalk, but moved it up later that night.

Apparently, I didn't shift forward far enough. When I went to get the car this afternoon, it had the bright orange ticket on the windshield. It accused me of parking within 20 feet of an intersection.

Not to sound like an entitled brat, but this is total B.S., Somerville. People park in that spot all the time and don't get ticketed. Twenty feet would put me halfway down the block. And it's not like my place is in a big intersection—there's plenty of room for cars to navigate. Is it my out-of-state plates? Some bored cop decided to make a quick buck on my dwindling dollars?

Sigh. Just another expense for my unemployed ass.

The New York Times Is Selling. But Who's Buying the Globe?

2008-12-29T12:42:00.003-05:00

Most employees of companies that are facing uncertainty during these trying economic times listen to every bit of gossip and hearsay that float around the office when rumors of a new owner circulate. It must be nice for the reporters at the Globe to call up the people who are reportedly considering becoming their new bosses to verify the rumors.

Both Boston Herald publisher Patrick Purcell and former Boston advertising executive Jack Connors separately flatly ruled out being involved in deals to buy the Boston Globe, which is owned by the New York Times Co. . . .

"There's nothing to it,'' Connors told the Globe. "I'm not buying the Boston Globe. I'm not buying anything that the New York Times owns.''

Hmm. Maybe Connors is waiting for the NYT to sell the possibly worthless broadsheet to another media conglomerate, and will then swoop in (perhaps wearing a cape) to purchase the Globe. Sure, it sounds crazy, but so does the possibility of News Corp. buying the Globe, merging it with Ottaway, and shuttering the Herald.

[I]n a statement today Purcell said he had no discussions as Ottaway chairman "with any potential bidders" for the Globe and called the Financial Times story "completely unfounded and not rooted in reality." The sole owner of the Herald, Purcell said he was committed to keeping Boston a two-newspaper city.

I'd like to announce that I am interested in buying the Boston Globe. I can offer $900, a 19-inch HD television, and my caustic wit. Provided I can live in the Morrissey Boulevard offices, of course.

Slow News Day Quick Hits

2008-12-29T10:49:00.002-05:00

No kidding.

I enjoy the Espresso Royale near Symphony Hall or on Newbury Street.

I'd rather be broke in Europe than in America. At least then, I'd be living the dream while living paycheck to paycheck.

WTF?

WTF, Part II.

Well, that sucks. But there's always next year.

Examining the Christmas Haul

2008-12-25T22:07:00.003-05:00

You guys, I'm in love. I'd like you to meet the very special additions to my life.

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Yes, that's a Big Blue Bug Christmas ornament (which will become a year-round desk ornament when/if I get a new full-time gig—it reminds me of my roots) and a 16GB iPod Touch. I know I say this every time I get a new iPod, but this is seriously the best thing to happen to me in months. Not only do I have all my music at my disposal again after years of using a teensy 1 GB Nano, but I think this may be the device that leads to my fiscal solvency.

Did you guys know about this site called Mint.com? You enter in all the information for your bank accounts, loans, credit cards, and investments, and it automatically updates and tells you what you're worth, what fees you've incurred, etc. I now know I'm worth -$49,532, and that's before I've added in my overdraft account and federal student loans. Which is a good thing to know, even if it does make me want to kill myself. And, provided there is WiFi available, I'll be able to see that before I make a stupid purchase.

This should be handy when my Mom and I hit the outlets tomorrow. Here's hoping for some good deals.

In other Christmas news, I'm happy to report I got a new coat, some gift certificates to Target, and some lovely soaps. And my brother hooked me up with a sweet USB hub and a portable battery backup which will keep me a-rockin' whilst I am on the road.

In honor of this special day, let's do the iPod meme.

Instructions: Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question. NO CHEATING.

How does the world see you?
Let Your Troubles Roll By, Carbon Leaf [Um, I guess I'm easygoing? I don't think so, but, 'kay.]

Will I have a happy life?
Say Hello, Jay-Z ["I come from the bottom, but I'm mad fly." Sounds good to me.]

What do my friends really think of me?
New Slang, The Shins ["Never should have called but my head's to the wall and I'm lonely." Depressing.]

What do people secretly think of me?
Original Sinsuality, Tori Amos [This is cryptic, even for Tori. I cannot divine meaning from this. Maybe I'm a ho?]

How can I be happy?
Georgia On My Mind, Ray Charles [I do like warm weather and peaches.]

What should I do with my life?
She Loves You, The Beatles [Tell people I love them? OK. Done.]

Will I ever have children?
American Girls, Counting Crows [Guess they'll be girls, which is OK. Just sad they won't have a British father.]

What is some good advice for me?
Thunder Road, Bruuuuce ["Hey what else can we do now/ Except roll down the window/ And let the wind blow/ Back your hair." Run away. Gotcha.]

How will I be remembered?
Seamless Life, Vance Gilbert [This is a beautiful song by an artist you should know, but it's very depressing. Basically about living the 9-5 grind without any adventure or complications. "No rough edges/ and no loose ties/ living the seamless life." Swell.]

What is my signature dancing song?
Gatheration, Lady Sovereign [Awesome. "Lightweights, I really can't stand 'em."]

What do I think my current theme song is?
Tears Dry on Their Own, Amy Winehouse [Um, yes. "Even if I stop wanting you/ Perspective pushes through/ I'll be some next man's other woman soon/ I shouldn't play myself again/ I should just be my own best friend/ Not fuck myself in the head with stupid men."]

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
God's Gonna Cut You Down, Johnny Cash [Holy crap. "You can run on for a long time/ Run on for a long time/ Run on for a long time/ Sooner or later God'll cut you down/ Sooner or later God'll cut you down."]

What song will play at my funeral?
Don't Stop Believin', Journey [Dudes. If I die, seriously, I want this played. For I am naught but a small-town girl living in a lonely world.]

What type of men/women do you like?
Never Coming Home, Sting [Ah, yes. This is true. The ones who run away.]

What is my day going to be like?
Love At First Sight, Kylie Minogue [Hey, I did fall in love today. With my iPod!]

Merry Merry, Happy Happy

2008-12-24T23:29:00.003-05:00

The carrot cake has been baked. My attempt at cinnamon buns is attempting to rise on the kitchen counter. There are ample chocolate chip cookies available for noshing. My brother and I just finished wrapping gifts.

I'm officially ready for Christmas.

Here's hoping that the 2008 edition of the holiday finds you healthy, still employed, and spending time with your loved ones. As always, I'm grateful to have the gift of readers who give a crap what I have to say, even without BoMag in my URL. And, to my Jewish friends, I hope you see an awesome movie tomorrow.

I'll see you when the eggnog haze lifts on Friday.

In Which the Derjue Family Saves Christmas

2008-12-23T21:24:00.004-05:00

We've all seen those hackneyed Christmas specials in which someone saves Christmas. Ernest Saved Christmas once. So did Elmo.

Today, the Derjue family saved Christmas. For real.

A friend of mine had planned to leave for Las Vegas to celebrate Christmas with her parents on Sunday. Because of the snow, she figured it would be smart to change her flight to Monday evening. As an added bonus, she'd be on the same flight as the rest of her siblings and her niece.

Except JetBlue canceled their flight three hours before it left on Monday, sending the family scrambling to find another flight. Naturally, everything out of Logan was astronomically expensive, sold out, or would get them there well after Christmas. I offered to do everything I could for them. At the time, I figured that would be limited to fielding my friend's profanity-laced emails and text messages.

But when Sam and I got back to my Mom's house last night, my friend asked if I'd be willing to drive her to the airport in Manchester, NH to catch the one flight in all of New England that wouldn't force her niece into white slavery to pay for. I was on my way to Boston to look at apartments (know of a place/sublet? Let me know!) this afternoon, so I saw no reason why my Mom and I couldn't swing by and do a good deed.

I woke up an hour later than I'd hoped, told my Mom the plan, took a fast shower, and hit the road. At first, we knew we were getting my friend. Then her brother was on board. Then her sister, sister-in-law, and niece. All in one big (but not that big) vehicle.

Traffic was fine through Providence and Boston, and we got my friend with ease. Then we got on 93 to pick up our second passenger in Woburn. Our trusty GPS sent us through the cute little downtown area of the city, which was overrun with schoolchildren who'd just been let out and last-minute holiday shoppers. After we picked up her brother, we sat in Burlington Mall traffic. Then we sat in more traffic as we drove to another part of town to pick up the rest of the family at a Logan Express lot.

After an epic struggle, we somehow fit six adults and one preschooler into my grandmother's van.

"Are we going on an adventure?" My friend's sister asked her daughter.

"No," she said. "We're just going on a plane."

My friend commanded me to drive like the wind, which I certainly did. My mother shifted nervously in her seat as I tailgated and weaved in and out of traffic. I wished that I had some sort of flashing light to indicate that I was doing the good work of saving Christmas for an entire family to push the slow cars aside.

Because I used my excellent driving skills and did not allow my poor mother to use a bathroom all morning, we managed to get the family to the airport 40 minutes before their flight left. I just got a message from my friend, saying that they barely made it through bag check, but are safely in Nevada.

I'd have done it for any of my friends, and don't expect anything other than gas money in payment. But if this doesn't put me on the "nice" list, I don't know what will.

GateHouse Gets Litigious

2008-12-22T16:40:00.003-05:00

It is, as the kids say, on like Donkey Kong between GateHouse Media and the Globe. Dan Kennedy reports that the local paper chain is suing the broadsheet over its hyperlocal "Your Town" sites. Which isn't totally surprising—the chain's owner hinted as much when I spoke to him for Boston Daily.

Now Universal Hub founder Adam Gaffin has announced he won't be posting any content from GateHouse sites, fearing a lawsuit since he too earns money off ads and could be accused of doing the same thing as Boston.com. I'd argue that it's less problematic for GateHouse when Gaffin links to their stories because he populates most of his site with content from local bloggers and probably causes the company to lose $.00002 per story. Boston.com's determination to repeat the Universal Hub model on the super-local level in order to save its fledgling business model definitely encroaches on GateHouse's turf in a more menacing way.

I can't wait to see how this one plays out. And I have no fear in linking to GateHouse content—I can assure you this blog makes me exactly zero dollars.

Tire Treads in the Snow

2008-12-21T19:06:00.002-05:00

As promised, here are the pictures from my commute yesterday. Good times.

Spray-On Pancakes. Really

2008-12-21T17:46:00.009-05:00

After my 2-hour epic drive to Rhode Island yesterday (pics to come—sorry to mess with the chronology), my mother and I went to the grocery store to pick up some milk and bread for my grandfather. As we walked through the refrigerator section, I did a double-take.

The store had pancake batter in a can more traditionally used for whipped cream.

My Mom and I had a good chuckle about the product, and decided it was worth trying on a snowy Sunday morning. Even if it did cost $5. But it's organic!

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It works just how you think such a product would. Press on the little white plastic dispenser, et voila. Organic pancake batter on-demand.

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Here was our first pancake. I used too little batter, so it came out looking more like a lace cookie.

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I was a little more liberal on my later flapjacks. And we even had some frozen blueberries to add to the flavor bouquet.

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I went into this experiment fully expecting to eat scrambled eggs for breakfast, but the batter was surprisingly tasty. It had a nice nutty flavor, and no weird chemical aftertaste from whatever magic substance propels the contents of those spray cans.

For single people like me, the spray pancake is a brilliant invention. Whenever I make pancakes for myself, or even for my family when I'm home, the smallest amount of batter Bisquick whips up is way too big. Now even losers who don't have a special someone to make doe-eyes at over Sunday brunch can still enjoy a special breakfast without wasting food.

In closing: Spray pancakes are pasquinade-tested, and pasquinade-approved.

My First City Parking and Snow Experience

2008-12-20T22:17:00.003-05:00

I lingered over my Saturday morning bagel even longer than usual today because I dreaded what awaited me when it came time to move Grandmother's Car from its snowy parking place. I'd watched the snow coverage. I'd packed up the KitchenAid to ensure easy Christmas cookie baking. Resigning myself to my fate, I put on my clashing snow pants and big winter jacket and went outside.

Due to my own laziness and stupidity, I hadn't purchased a shovel before the storm hit, so all I had to get myself out from under 10 inches of snow was one of those orange foam Sno-Brooms. Luckily, I'd had the foresight to grab a spot just before a driveway, so nobody could park in front of me. I figured I'd just pull out of the spot instead of getting the snow jammed under my wheels while navigating between two cars.

I pushed the fluffy stuff off the windshield. I got as much off the roof as I could reach. I started the car, then used the Sno-Broom to clear some of the drifted snow away from the wheels. After surveying the scene, I got in the car, removed my gloves, and shifted into drive.

"Come on," I said to the car as I eased on the gas. And without any trouble at all, I was free of my spot.

It couldn't possibly have gone that easy, could it? Is this just dumb luck? How did I get a non-SUV out of ten inches of snow without a shovel? Although I kind of needed one to get out of the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot on my way to the highway. It was eerily reminiscent of the demolition derby pits I have seen.

Once I get my laptop working on the home WiFi, I'll post some pictures of my epic 2-hour drive. It was captivating stuff.

More Shoes For George Bush

2008-12-19T11:10:00.004-05:00

If I had a shoe on (What? I'm an unemployed blogger. You should be happy I'm wearing pants and have bathed in the past 24 hours), I'd be throwing it at George Bush for this move.

"Doctors and other healthcare providers should not be forced to choose between good professional standing and violating their conscience," Health and Human Services Secretary Michael O. Leavitt said in a statement.

So now the federal government can cut funding to any state or local health care facility that doesn't allow ~~wingnuts~~ employees with a "conscience" to not treat someone if it violates their personal beliefs. Bush did this now so it will go into effect before Barack Obama takes office, and will probably stay on the books because it's a long, arduous process to repeal it. Obama will most likely be too busy trying to save the economy as we know it to bother with this right away.

Just the name of the rule bothers me. "Right of conscience." Like women who get abortions or want birth control pills to stop the mind-numbing cramps they get once a month are just self-interested harlots bent on destroying society and only these chosen few medical professionals with a conscience can stop them.

In the opinion of this birth-control-taking, pro-choice harlot, if you have the mental capacity to have a conscience, you're smart enough to know that going into the medical profession involves doing some things you'd rather not. Like cleaning up various bodily fluids, dealing with uncooperative patients, or watching someone go against your medical advice.

But you deal with it because that's in the job description. If you don't like doling out birth control or performing abortions, work for a center that has values more in line with your own. Don't make yourself a liability to an already-struggling clinic.

Is it Jan. 20 yet?

Sallie Mae Be Evil

2008-12-18T12:29:00.004-05:00

I don't believe that Bernie Madoff is a saint. But the one moneymaking institution that has my dander up at present is Sallie Mae.

As you may recall me writing earlier this month, the company's policy during the worst economic downturn in modern times is to charge debt-addled college graduates a fee for deferring their loans while searching for a new job, and then only gives them three months without payments. When another of the many student loan companies with which I do business called me to get my mailing address, I asked them what I needed to do to defer my loans.

"Send us a letter explaining which unemployment agency you've registered with, and tell us you want Option A," the very helpful operator told me.

"There are no fees?"

"No. And you'll get six months without payments. If you still don't have a job after that, just let us know and we'll start another six-month freeze."

Ahh.

But it seems that Sallie Mae's lack of sympathy isn't only for the unemployed. The company also doesn't give a damn about dead soldiers.

"We are asking that you forgive Ian [McVey]'s loans as his federal loans are being forgiven on the basis of Ian's choice of service to our country as a patriot and so that our family may not have to bear these financial burdens while we deal with the inconsolable grief over the senseless, tragic and untimely loss of our son. While life has not been fair, we pray that you will be."

Sallie Mae responded with a computer-generated letter that, aside from a "Please accept our condolences for your loss" stuck in the middle, was a demand for $53,144.

I can't wait to see the day when Sallie Mae's executives are made to sit in front of Congress and beg forgiveness. I hope that our legislators show them the same level of mercy they've given their customers—none.

No Longer the Alliteration Station?

2008-12-17T22:14:00.004-05:00

Over a couple of beers at the Pour House tonight (ah, irony), my friends and I were talking about the doomed local media scene. One friend pointed out a very disturbing trend I had not noticed until it was mentioned.

Channel 7 has cut way back on its use of alliteration.

That's like. . . Boston magazine cutting back on its high-end lifestyle reporting. Or the Globe cutting back on lifeless lifestyle pieces. Or the Herald cutting back on conservative ire. It is just a move to deny its true identity, and should therefore not be done.

For example: The News Station is leading its reports about the ongoing mess north of Boston with the headline "Ice Storm." Bo-ring. How about "Staying Warm After the Storm?" "Ice Isn't Nice?"

Surely the station's crack team of writers could come up with something more—wait for it—compelling than "Ice Storm"? Or have the alliterative geniuses all been laid off as the media economy continues its downward spiral?

Unemployed Dancing Fools

2008-12-17T14:15:00.004-05:00

Over a couple of beers the other night, a fellow unemployed layabout and I decided that while we're in-between jobs, we should learn the dance from Beyonce's "Single Ladies" video.

Beyoncé‚ Knowles - Single Ladies
Video
Envoyé par mohzer sur wat.tv

Neither of us have any sense of grace. How hard could it possibly be?

But it got me thinking about all the other popular dances I've attempted to learn in my life. As a teenager, there was the bondage-lite classic, "If" by Janet Jackson.

But I never could get the arms and legs to move in unison. Nor could I find a strapping bald guy to dangle from the ceiling at the tender age of 13.

Even a white girl from the suburbs managed to pull this one off.

But this would completely end me. For real.

However, I feel completely comfortable with all the moves displayed in this classic scene. Especially the hopping from side to side while shaking my head. I'm a big fan of that one.

If I can do the Peanuts dance, certainly I can handle "Single Ladies." Right?

Gettin' Bizzay in the People's Republic

2008-12-17T09:39:00.002-05:00

According to QualityHealth.com [via Beantown Bloggery], Cambridge is the 10th most sexually active city in America. The site ranked cities by birth rates, birth control sales, Amazon.com sales figures for books about sex, and erotica sales.

This academic hub, which houses both Harvard and M.I.T., is also the city with the most relationship savvy: 58 percent of its romantic Amazon.com purchases are books about relationships. Cambridge's lower-than-average birth rates kept it from earning a top spot on our list, but it's interesting to note that in 1991 Massachusetts became the first location to institute a statewide condom availability program in its high schools.

Just because we liberals are smart enough not to get pregnant doesn't mean we're not sexy. We're just sexy in that Tina Fey, librarian glasses sense of sexy.

I'm not surprised that the capital of my home state is one of the least sexually-active cities in America. God knows I never got laid there.

Known as the Renaissance City, Providence has struggled to improve its poverty rates over the past few decades and is now touted as one the best quality-of-life cities in the country. Even so, sex is not its strong suit: Birth and fertility rates remain low, and its contraceptive and erotica sales seem to have stalled.

That's because one of my favorite sex-positive sex shops, Miko, closed earlier this year. There's nothing less sexy than walking through the aforementioned poor neighborhoods to hit up an Amazing Superstore to buy a cheap plastic sex toy and a low-budget gang bang porno.

Beacon Hill Makes Me Doubt My Sanity

2008-12-16T21:20:00.003-05:00

I spend one day writhing in agony due to a stomach bug, and wake up to find the whole world has gone mad. Bernard Cohen is "resigning," as Jon Keller so eloquently put it, and Gov. Deval Patrick hopes to replace him with James Aloisi. Who helped plan the Big Dig. Which is a large part of why our transportation system is royally screwed. How, exactly, is this a good idea?

I'm partial to Cohen, who hasn't been afraid to speak the truth about the state's doomed transportation systems, and am sad to see him go. (But, let me be clear—I'm unemployed, and wouldn't take that job for all the cushy benefits and pensions you could throw at me. It's like being made captain of a ship that is actively sinking.)

And in other crazy news, House Speaker Sal DiMasi has taken up the reformer's mantle in this transit funding brouhaha.

THE CHINESE SYMBOL for crisis is a combination of the characters for danger and opportunity.

I'm pretty sure that's how some of the sorority girls justified their ill-advised tattoos when I was in college. But after the cheesy start, DiMasi makes the case that a toll hike is a dumb way to try to save the Turnpike. Instead, DiMasi argues, we need to reform these agencies, then raise the gas tax.

Which is exactly what Senate President Therese Murray argued in a Globe editorial last month. So, if my math is correct, two out of three Beacon Hill leaders are on the same page about how to handle this crisis. While the third is busy appointing a man to lead the troubled agencies who helped put them on the road to hell.

This is going to get very interesting.

Damn Kids

2008-12-15T11:47:00.003-05:00

This weekend, I attended a kid's birthday party in Salem. Despite the dangerous combination of seven-year-olds, drums, and my epic hangover, it was a good time. The party had a rock and roll theme, which was greatly enhanced by a three-year-old boy who vomited profusely all over his mother.

Seriously, it was like something out of The Exorcist. I don't know how a little body could produce so much bile. He went home with his puke-soaked mother, and I helped clean up the remnants before another kid fell in it. (And by help clean it up, I ripped up paper towels for my friend, who was doing that thing mothers do when they don't care how foul something is, they'll clean it if it needs to be done.)

I thought he might have eaten too much. But I later found out that the boy's sisters and mother had recently dealt with the stomach bug. And, lo and behold, I woke up today with stomach cramps. I suffered through a meeting this morning, and broke out in hives toward the end of it. Hives. What the hell kind of virus is this?

As I write this, I'm laying very still on my bed, hoping not to disturb whatever part of my intestines that are causing me so much pain. And reminding myself to get my tubes tied when I go into the hospital from whatever serious medical condition this virulent germ causes me. I have stuff to do, body. Sack up and fight it.

The Other Shoe Flies

2008-12-14T22:50:00.004-05:00

I'm sure you've seen this by now.

Huh. Guess that Iraqi journalist Muntadar al-Zeidi is as impatient as I am for Barack Obama to take office.

A few things:

For a man who's aged so much during his eight years in office, ol' George managed to duck those size 10 loafers pretty well.
But did he really have to smirk? Tossing a shoe at someone and calling him a dog is to Iraqis what flashing your headlights and flipping someone off while yelling that he's a Jeter-loving motherfucker is to Bostonians. It's a grave insult. At least try to muster up some concern.
The Secret Service was apparently so busy trying to memorize the code names for the Obama family that they were slow to respond to this shoe-throwing maniac. He threw one shoe, then had enough time to take the other shoe off and hum it at the President before anybody tackled him.
Poor Dana Perino is going to be telling the same story all week. "I got this shiner from a microphone. Yes, really."

In all seriousness, I'm glad the President is okay. If only because pictures of him in his wounded state may have made some easily-influenced Americans a little less upset about the horrible legacy he'll leave behind in a little more than a month.

Officially Freelancing

2008-12-12T14:46:00.001-05:00

When I lost my job, the woman I babysit for said I had one week to advertise myself as an unemployed writer. "After that," she said, "you're a freelancer."

I guess that's true. Not only can you find my work here and on Blue Mass Group, but I'm also doing some work for NESN.com. Today I wrote about what the new Red Sox logos mean for the MLB-licensed caskets.

Be sure to check it out.

You Are Now Free to Move About the Commonwealth

2008-12-12T12:07:00.004-05:00

Susan Wornick just said clarified the meaning of the State of Emergency declared by Gov. Deval Patrick. It means he can activate the National Guard and apply for federal disaster aid.

"It does not prohibit travel, so you are free to move around the state," Wornick said. Thank goodness. I have to celebrate my 10,000th day of life this evening.

Is it wrong that I really want to hop in the car and check out the two inches of ice that fell in other parts of the state? Because I'm seeing the pictures on TV, but when I look out my window in Somerville and see only puddles, I can't believe it looks like that only a few miles away.

Treading on A-Walk

2008-12-12T10:32:00.004-05:00

Can we talk about Adrian Walker for a second?

I know I'm going to catch some flack for ragging on the Globe columnist. "Hey, Derjue, he's got a job and you don't." True enough. But I feel like an awful lot of his columns lately have been mea culpas explaining how he's been hoodwinked by a scam artist.

As Adam Gaffin points out, Walker got a dishonorable mention in the FBI's complaint against former State Senator Dianne Wilkerson. He said he didn't suspect anything when Wilkerson called him up to rail against the licensing process she was manipulating. Today, Walker explains how he was fooled by Jake Severino, a young man who faked a brain tumor.

The funny thing is, Walker's September column about Severino notes that doctors didn't believe his claims.

"He made the rounds of emergency rooms and they thought he was a junkie looking for drugs," [Severino's mother-in-law Lisa] Donovan said.

Referring to his wife, Kelli, one EMT told him, "You might be fooling this little girl, but you're not fooling me.' "

So if there were suspicious about his diagnosis, wouldn't you, the columnist, ask to see some medical records? Or at least talk to the doctors he was seeing to get another tearjerker quote about his grim prognosis?

Maybe this kid was a great scammer and presented Walker with some convincing fake medical bills. But Walker should have taken this kid's tragic story with a grain of salt.

Taking Joy in the 12 Pains of Christmas

2008-12-11T22:05:00.003-05:00

As I procrastinate on writing my Christmas cards this evening, I read esteemed media critic and Facebook friend Dan Kennedy's Twitter feed, which is essentially a liveblog of his frustrations with printing address labels for his Christmas cards from Word. (Kudos to him for even trying—I go the old-school route and hand-write addresses. Which is why I am procrastinating.)

It reminds me of that holiday classic, "The 12 Pains of Christmas." Which got me to thinking—this 1987 hit could stand an update for its 21st birthday. Some of the pains, like writing Christmas cards and dealing with in-laws, are the eternal. But there are so many more pains in this modern world.

Like printing address labels from Word. Remembering to TiVo the classic holiday specials that the networks barely advertise anymore. Dealing with the shame when your greenwashed friends come over and notice the lights on your tree aren't LEDs and tell you you're single-handedly destroying the planet. The awkward Facebook friend request from your coworker's husband the day after the office Christmas party. Having to remember to say "Holiday Party" and not "Christmas Party" so you're not considered an insensitive goon. Remembering to pay back child support before literally making a spectacle of yourself.

I could go on.

But give me your best ideas in the comments. If we get some good ones, maybe we can revisit the holiday parody. Provided we can find a talented singer. I don't want to be the one to provide the 13th pain of Christmas.

Happy People Dwell in Faneuil Hall

2008-12-11T20:47:00.003-05:00

I was killing time downtown after an appointment I had got delayed today, so I decided to grab a bite at Quincy Market. I managed to score one of the coveted low tables with a seat. Across the table from me, and old man was telling a couple of tourists about the wonders of train travel. Once the visitors got up, I knew the old man was going to chat me up. Since my mind was on the meeting and the astronomical parking fee I was going to have to pay, I kept my responses short.

Midway through my meal, a bald guy took a seat across the table from me, next to the old man.

"How are you today?" He asked me.

"Good," I said, taking a bite of my pizza. As he sat quietly, I felt kind of bad for not keeping the conversation going.

"How are you?" I asked as he was between bites on his sausage, egg, and cheese on croissant.

"Stupendous," bald guy replied emphatically.

"That's a pretty bold statement for such a rainy day."

"Hey, at least it's not snowing!" Bald guy said with a smile.

The old man had clearly found a kindred spirit in this happy bald guy, and started talking to him about his cross-country trek on Amtrak.

"They named me Traveler of the Week," the old man told the bald guy.

"That's wonderful," said bald guy.

I watched as the duo enthusiastically discussed Boston sports teams and the old man's work with the sports teams in his California community.

"Making people happy is what makes me happy," old man said. "I always say that happiness is an inside job."

"You have to be right here," bald guy said, pointing to his heart, "before you can be happy for the world."

With that, I politely excused myself, tossed my trash, and went to check out the ironic t-shirts at Urban Outfitters. That much happiness on a rainy afternoon was enough to make me lose my overpriced and underflavored mall food lunch.

Tom Menino Gets Lit

2008-12-11T08:08:00.003-05:00

For one of the last Go To Guide event newsletters I wrote at my old job, I made a joke about the holiday season being more stressful for Mayor Tom Menino than it is for the average citizen. Turns out, attending tree lightings from Boston Common to West Roxbury pays big political dividends.

His poll numbers suggest that showing up for tree lightings, school openings, ribbon cuttings, award ceremonies, and store openings is part of the popularity he has built during 15 years in office. Fifty-four percent of respondents in a Globe poll in April said they have personally met the mayor, who had a job-approval rating above 70 percent.

Somewhere in City Hall, rumored mayoral hopeful Mike Flaherty is crafting a press release in which he says he will supervise the addition of lights to every menorah display in Boston. For all eight days of Hanukkah. Suck on that, Menino!

Can We Form a Boston Chapter of ASSME?

2008-12-10T16:09:00.004-05:00

Shoot. Looks like I might need to make a trip to New York next week for this wonderful event.

Open bars are de riguer at media parties, and they're just about the only fringe benefit of working in this godforsaken industry. But what happens when the parties themselves start to disappear, like what's happening this holiday season? NO MORE FREE BOOZE! Portfolio's Mixed Media reports that there is a new group called "ASSME: the American Society of Shitcanned Media Elites"—which I guess I should probably join—that will carry on the noble tradition of an open bar in season where everyone else is a god-damned Scrooge. If you're laid-off and broke, you can still keep on drinking—at least for one magical night.

Come on, Boston media elite. Let's form our own chapter of this much-needed club. Between my laid-off ass, Bob Lobel, the printing press workers at the Herald, and the bought-out staffers of the Globe, it would be quite a time.

It Wasn't Chuck

2008-12-10T15:03:00.004-05:00

I've tried to give Chuck Turner the benefit of the doubt. To paraphrase what John Tobin told the Globe when the charges against the Boston City Councilor came out, he always seemed like a passionate ideologue, not a money-hungry politician.

Unlike Dianne Wilkerson, who most people always suspected was out for Number One, what with all the nonpayment of taxes and alleged perjury and whatnot.

But, Chuck. Come on, dude. Your assertion that the photo stills from the FBI video might have been faked is really far-out. Even for you.

"I've seen some grainy photographs. I don't know if that's me. They doctor photographs," Turner told The Associated Press. "I know it looks something like me, but the reality is I haven't seen the real photo. There hasn't been an analysis done on the photographs."

Yes, Chuck, a photograph can be faked or altered. Jezebel has a regular feature about the nefarious applications of Photoshop. But it's usually used to remove a blemish or take a couple of inches off the hips, not incriminate an innocent victim.

But, hey, maybe Turner is right. I'm no Photoshop expert. Because if I were, I would have added the following items to the incriminating still in question:

A dimebag of weed
One of those goldfish you win at a carnival
A chocolate donut
The latest Miley Cyrus CD
Deep Pockets' Christmas list
A Rubber Ducky
A bootleg copy of Twilight

In closing, I leave you with this. Because if I have it stuck in my head, so should you.

I Best Not Catch this Flick on YouTube

2008-12-10T10:50:00.003-05:00

I am not what women's magazines call a sexpert. The time that elapses between my boyfriends or paramours or man-friends or whatever the hell you want to call them is typically so long that I figure the physics of sex have changed drastically since I last participated when I take up with a new partner.

But there are a few things I know never change. One, always use at least one method of birth control. Two, pull the comforter down before getting busy. And three, never, EVER allow pictures or videos you take during your trysts to leave the scene of the action.

Do we have to teach this in sex ed too? It seems that the answer is yes, since a new study reveals that one out of five teenagers are sending naked pictures of themselves via cellphone or email.

I take this as an additional reason to raise my children Amish.

I just don't understand how kids can allow this to happen after some of those tween stars they love so much have found their private pictures splashed in the tabloids after the images fell into the wrong hands. For people who use social networking technology so much, they're awfully unaware of how it works.

I know this is just an extension of teenagers' inability to think of the consequences of their actions, hormones, yadda yadda. But think of this, kids—If you put it out there, your parents might see it.

If that doesn't ice your hot little teenage veins, nothing will.

Less Talking to Reporters, More Talking to the Unemployed

2008-12-09T23:27:00.004-05:00

At times like this, I wish I had the new media know-how to splice footage of me watching this WBZ report about the taxed employees of the state's unemployment call centers.

"It takes the kind of person who looks at people like they're people [to do the job]," one woman tells the WBZ reporter.

Yeah, somebody should have told that to the completely unhelpful person who filed my claim a couple of weeks ago.

"Behind every call is someone who is unemployed. And this is their lifeline to the desperately-needed check," the reporter voices-over.

Hey, lady—if it's so damn important, let the workers you interview answer the phone. I called yesterday to get some help on how to claim my severance payment, and I was told to call back because the operators were too busy. So stop asking these people if they cry or pray for the teeming refuse of which I am part, and let them take a call.

I expect to see these people working like children in one of Kathie Lee Gifford's sweatshops. Ten minute lunches, nine hour days, and only one day off per week. Either that, or hire some new people to help ease the load. As more people lose their jobs, these staffers will need all the help they can get to explain the confusing process of collecting unemployment in Massachusetts to callers.

Good News, Bad News: Corruption Edition

2008-12-09T11:17:00.003-05:00

Good News: Federal authorities have arrested a white guy associated with a high-profile corruption probe.

Bad News: This white guy does not live in Boston. It's Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich, who was allegedly selling off Barack Obama's senate seat and withholding financial help from the troubled Tribune company until it fired editors who were critical of his governorship.

Good News: Boston's (allegedly) corrupt politicians still have the honor of the best surveillance photo.

Bad News: Hey, FBI? We're still waiting to see a caucasian in cuffs in the Dejavu liquor license debacle. Any time now.

Ellen In Prime Time!

2008-12-09T09:01:00.004-05:00

There are two things I really like unemployment. One, I can get up an hour and a half later than I did when I was working. Two, I get to watch Ellen.

I'm sure I've waxed poetic about how Ellen DeGeneres approaches problems with her dry sense of humor and doesn't preach and yell like some talk show doyennes I could name, Oprah. For instance, Ellen just pointed out that Saran Wrap and aluminum foil boxes have little tabs to keep the rolls in place. I seriously had no clue.

When I mentioned my love for Ellen on Facebook yesterday, one of my friends added that it was one of her favorite parts of maternity leave (the other being her new child). I then suggested that Ellen should be moved to prime time so those few people who still have jobs can watch it.

I think the idea could totally work. NBC has given Jay Leno a prime-time talk show to keep him from making a move to a competing network. God knows the only good programs during prime time nowadays are 30 Rock, How I Met Your Mother, and Gossip Girl. There's still plenty of time for a prime-time talk show, networks. I don't want to miss my fix of dancing comediennes once I get a new gig.

I'm totally going to start a petition to move Ellen to prime-time. Not like I have anything else to do today.

The Recession Hits Local Aid

2008-12-08T15:26:00.003-05:00

Raise your hand if you didn't see this one coming.

“There's going to have to be some cuts made across the board in fiscal 2010,” [House Speaker Sal] DiMasi told a group of reporters in his office. “Now, how much of a cut local aid will take is a matter of how much, it’s not a matter of whether they will take a cut or not … I suggest it’s going to be at least 5 [percent], and as much as 10 percent.”

Hope you kids liked going to school while you could. From now on, all learning will be done via the Noggin network, or perhaps via PlayStation 3 downloads.

DiMasi says he'll try to offset the cuts by allowing towns to tax meals or telephone poles. Which should be a great solution. Because everyone knows that the average resident of Main Street, Massachusetts is dining out a lot lately. We've got plenty of money to spare. Yes, Mr. Speaker, please balance your budget on my big, fat wallet!

Sorry. DiMasi made me a little sore with this quip.

When asked whether he planned to serve the full two-year term, he said, "I don't know. Do you think you'll have your job two years from now?"

Matt Viser is from the Globe, Sal. He'll be lucky if he keeps his job or current salary through tomorrow. It's just cruel to make fun of the journalists during these trying times.

Just When I Was Confident in the Inherent Goodness of Mankind...

2008-12-08T14:33:00.004-05:00

Out of the kindness of her heart (or the instability of her mind, depending on how you look at things), my grandmother has loaned me her car while she's out of town for a few months. One of the beautiful things about my area of Somerville is that you need not be a resident to park on the street. This morning happened to be one of the last street cleaning days of the year, so I parked further down the road than normal. I left the car in pristine condition.

But when I trekked down the hill to use it to run a couple of errands this afternoon, a strange sight met my eye. On the side of the car, I saw what I thought was diet Coke remnants splashed on the driver's side doors. Since it's cold out, I didn't think much of it. When I got in the driver's seat, I saw that there was goo on the windshield as well. I turned on the car, and tried to wipe it away with the windshield wipers and fluid.

Turns out, it was probably chicken grease that landed on the vehicle. After one pass of the wipers, I couldn't see a damn thing out the window for all the greasy white streaks on it.

I managed to clear off a small hole to peer through, and cautiously drove around the block to get a spot closer to my place. I went back inside and grabbed my grease-cutting cleaning products, a roll of paper towels, and set to work.

Eventually, I got the crap off the windshield enough where I could complete my errands, but it was still streaky and gross in the middle of the glass where my arms couldn't reach. After I wiped the wipers with some Lysol kitchen cleaner, they stopped spreading the grease and the car is back to normal.

My mood, however, still is not right. You've got to be some kind of asshole to throw chicken grease on a car. It's not trash night, so this can't be blamed on a burst garbage bag. Did some jerk get angry because he didn't get a spot on the correct side of the street for cleaning day, and decided to take it out on the car with out-of-state plates?

Whoever it was who fucked with my car, I hope he or she enjoyed themselves. I hope they delighted in watching the chicken grease roll down the doors. I hope they laughed and laughed at the idea of an unemployed woman heading out to run a few errands in her nearly 80-year-old grandmother's car, which was loaned to her out of the goodness of someone's heart, and instead finding it messed up not even 24 hours after it arrived in the city.

They'd better hope I don't find them. Or else I'm going to sic my grandmother and grandfather on them when they get back in a few months. Trust me, they'd rather have me or the cops coming for them than my outspoken French grandmother or stoic German grandfather.

Failing that: I hope he or she dies in a fire.

The Crack Addict Is a Person In Your Neighborhood

2008-12-08T11:19:00.002-05:00

I have nothing against panhandling, or people who have to resort to less-than-conventional methods to earn a few bucks. (I'm going to attempt to cash in my empties to finance my Monday ritual of Gossip Girl and pizza.) But this Globe story about Mattapan panhandler Robbie Felder is kind of bizarre.

For the first half of the story, we're given the heartwarming tale of a man who wears clothes that are too big for him as he begs for money, but is well-loved by the community in which he panhandles.

Few [panhandle] like Felder. At 50 years old, he is ragged but well spoken, polite but introverted. His fingernails are grungy, but his graying beard is well-groomed. He is slightly bent over as he shuffles his feet from car to car, his arms limp by his side.
"No one ever complains about Robbie; he's just a fixture," said Captain James M. Claiborne, who runs the Mattapan police station on Felder's block.

Since the police are cool with him, it must be some kind of mental problem or a strong anti-society sentiment that's keeping Felder on the street, right?

Felder is addicted to crack cocaine, but he doesn't like to talk about it. It would be like wearing a sign, "I'm an addict," he says, and that's not good for business.

Last week, city officials announced that Boston will spend $26 million to help cut down on violent crime in troubled areas of the city. Some of that money will go toward keeping drug dealers from turning to violence.

This is a good thing, but doesn't it kind of undercut the effort when police officers knowingly look the other way when a prominent member of their community admits to having a problem with drugs? Shouldn't they get Felder some help? Or maybe try to find out where he's getting his fix?

John Buonomo Is Gone, But Not Forgotten

2008-12-08T10:50:00.000-05:00

This weekend was the first time I remembered to get off the train at Lechmere and photograph the sign outside the Middlesex Registry of Deeds offices. Now, that might sound crazy. But check this out.

Wait... who is register of probate?

Not so much. Which someone at the Registry of Probate knows, since they gave the sign the "out, damn spot" treatment.

Somebody's going to have to power-wash the hell out of that sign before the new guy takes office.

The custodian may also want to sweep the discarded condom wrapper off the front steps of the building too.

Shocker: Mitt Romney Wants to Be President

2008-12-08T09:53:00.003-05:00

I'm happy to see that former governor Mitt Romney has gotten smart. Instead of using his own money to further his political career, he's collecting funds from like-minded conservatives through his Free and Strong America PAC. Ostensibly, he's supposed to be using this money for Republican candidates around the country. But the Globe reports Romney is spending most of the money to position himself for a possible run in 2012.

The former Massachusetts governor has raised $2.1 million for his Free and Strong America political action committee. But only 12 percent of the money has been spent distributing checks to Romney's fellow Republicans around the country.

Although the broadsheet paints some of Romney's mailings as misleading, anybody who donated to the cause because their funds would go to some tight state senate race in Idaho is a bigger ditz than Sarah Palin. Donors like Romney's politics (or his hair) and they want to advance his cause in any way they can.

If a few bucks land in Saxby Chambliss' lap, great. But, really, contributors want to see Romney sashaying around, carrying the conservative torch until the next presidential election cycle begins.

Clark Rockefeller Haunts My Dreams

2008-12-07T11:16:00.003-05:00

Last night, I was sleeping (as you do), and I had a dream that I was a journalist who was visiting Clark Rockefeller in jail. In my dream, Rockefeller was the exact opposite of the mellow guy we've seen in jailhouse interviews and court appearances. He was struggling to get out of his cuffs, which was giving the guard problems.

There was a very well-dressed black female inmate there as well, who was making snarky remarks about how low-paid prison guards are. The scene was fast turning into chaos when Rockefeller asked the guard if he could have his feet restrained instead of his hands. The guard obliged, and I then knew that Rockefeller was going to get away.

Sure enough, the kidnapper managed to form a cat's cradle with his restraints (hey, it's a dream—this kind of thing can happen in my subconscious), got loose, and jumped up with a cartoony cackle and ran out the door. He took the female inmate with him, and I remember being happy that we'd get some more crazy Rockefeller stories because he was free.

I don't know what this means. But it was just so strange I needed to share.

The Twilight of Overt Sexuality

2008-12-06T23:29:00.003-05:00

Maybe this makes me a bad person, but I'd rather any children I have be inundated with trampy archetypes than messages that say too much lust will cause them to die. The Globe reports that kids these days are into romance, not the hit it and quit it messages I was getting as a teenager in the late '90s.

"If [the main characters from Twilight] kiss too deeply, he'll destroy her. It really equates desire with death," said Amy Boesky, who teaches English at Boston College and wrote two of the novels in the "Beacon Street Girls" series under the pseudonym Annie Bryant. "I can see why girls find it enthralling, but I also find it troubling."

You and me both, lady.

I read Pride and Prejudice and The Time Traveler's Wife. I love a good romance. But I don't believe that pushing a moralistic tale or purity rings on children is any healthier than the sexy schoolgirl costume Britney Spears wore to fame when I was in high school. Too much of either school of thought is bad for kids. My theory is that we teach kids the basic mechanics of how sex works, inform them of the risks, and let them make up their own minds.

Nowadays, we have to recognize that teenagers are ultimately the ones who decide what they do with their bodies. Whether they think they'll be made undead by a sexy vampire or beg their boyfriend to hit them one more time is a choice they have to make.

I'm Your Weathergirl

2008-12-05T17:59:00.003-05:00

After an epic struggle to get back to East Cambridge on the E Line, I stood and waited for the bus. Next to me stood a guy named John, who was chatting with one of his buddies about a kid who'd just strolled off the train wearing nothing more than a gray wifebeater and gray sweatpants.

"Lookit that kid. Strollin' around and showin' off his muscles. I did that when I was a teenagah too. I'd go and wait for the bus in Ahlington and when it was late, I'd sit there and shivah," John said.

His quieter friend nodded. Then John changed the topic.

"It's a beautiful sunset, isn't it? Look at the blue. See those clouds?" The skies were full of clouds that looked like speedbumps or ridges on a washboard. "Those are serious clouds. That means in two and a half days, we'll get snow from the Great Lakes. You watch."

So, there you have it. Some guy named John says it's going to snow Monday afternoon.

Today's Unemployment Winner and Loser

2008-12-05T12:29:00.003-05:00

Winner: The Globe's Names Column

Despite the relentless teasing I gave Boston's broadsheet during my tenure at BoMag, Paysha Rhone very kindly gave me a hat-tip in today's report. And even linked to this blog! Stay strong, my jounalist brethren.

Loser: Sallie Mae

The nation's unemployment rate has hit 6.7 percent last month. (Look, Mom, I'm a statistic!) Certainly debt-saddled college graduates like myself have been calling the company for help. I finally decided to bite the bullet today and ask for my payments to be delayed until I get a new gig.

Turns out, the company charges a $150 fee to defer the loans (which is the equivalent of one of my monthly payments), and then only gives a three month respite.

Three months?! In the biggest recession of my lifetime? Even the cash-strapped government has extended unemployment benefits. I think the company is going to have to reconsider that course of action. Or else we're going to see Sallie's executives looking for a bailout as all us unemployed young professional default on our loans because of their merciless repayment rules.

Hell, even my landlord said she's willing to work with me if I need to break my lease or can't make my rent. And she has something tangible she can take away from me.

My Key to Happiness

2008-12-05T10:45:00.005-05:00

Today's Globe reports that happiness is like that horrible Haley Joel Osment movie, Pay It Forward. In that if you are happy and hang around with happy people, the feeling gets magnified and you go out and hunt some bison. Or something.

Since I am a woman who just lost her job and was living paycheck to paycheck to begin with, you'd think my gainfully employed friends would be avoiding me like the plague as I wrangle with my finances and become miserable. But I'm actually feeling pretty good. At least until I have to figure out how to pay my rent and bills on my dwindling severance funds.

Why? Because unlike you still-working suckers, I know I'm screwed.

The past few weeks have been hell for one of my friends as she copes with rumors that layoffs are coming. One rumor said her department was safe, then another came along and said none would be entirely spared the misery. She needed to develop a Plan B, then abandoned it when she learned she'd be keeping her job. For now.

Over on Morrissey Boulevard, they're bracing for a contentious meeting about possible pay cuts and layoffs. (My favorite part of the memo Adam Reilly blogged? "Is ‘collaboration’ blindsiding BNG members with layoffs three weeks before Thanksgiving?" Some publications in this town do it two days before the holiday. Which was actually OK, because I got those extra days of pay.)

So if you're miserable because you're doing a ton of work for a pittance because you're afraid you'll lose your job if you don't, drop me a line. If you buy me a drink and some food, I'll bring my happy self to you and spread the unemployment joy your way. Because I'm a giver. And looking to cut down on my grocery bill.

Baby's First Ticket

2008-12-04T10:14:00.003-05:00

I have never given birth (a fact my grandmother reminds me of every time I see her), nor have I ever driven someone to the hospital who is in the throes of labor. But if I were with child, I'd be sure to pick a hospital that is close to home. You know, just to make sure I don't ruin my car seats with amniotic fluid because traffic keeps me from getting to the hospital I chose, which is no where near my home.

Though the Davises live about 30 miles away in Dracut, Jennifer Davis, 38, wanted to have her baby at Mount Auburn, where she had also given birth to her 7-year-old son, Brendan.

"For 10 months we had been saying, 'As long as I don't go into labor during rush hour' - which we did," said Davis[.]

So this family knew there could be a problem by choosing Mt. Auburn as the place where they'd deliver their daughter, but chose to do it anyway? The cop who pulled the couple over for traveling in the breakdown lane certainly isn't the hero of this story, but let's not completely shower the parents in sympathy either. Perhaps there should have been a rush-hour Plan B in which they drove to Lowell General Hospital instead of Mt. Auburn. Just a thought.

Herald FTW!

2008-12-04T09:53:00.002-05:00

In the waning days of employment, I took the Herald to task for its weak front cover stories. But this week, the tabloid is killing it.

First there was Matt Amorello serving up some French fries.

Today, we get cattle breaking through the window of the Red Line to accompany the news that the MBTA is removing seats on some trains to accommodate more passengers.

Well done, friends.

Whatever Parody You Like

2008-12-03T21:05:00.003-05:00

I don't know much about the artist, but I know I love T.I.'s music. Especially the song he did with Rihanna. I can't explain my deep love for her, but it's undeniable and true.

But perhaps the best song of T.I.'s is "Whatever You Like." Not only is it catchy on its own, but it has inspired several parodies that you should see. Like, right now.

Daily Intel links to Alphacat, who performs the song as Barack Obama.

"My country can get whatever it wants." Brilliant.

Then there's the highest form of compliment a musician can receive—a Weird Al parody. While it's no "White and Nerdy," I hope Mr. Yankovic decides to make a video for this clip, which is the first he ever distributed online as a single and not part of a full album.

He's a super-geek and old enough to be my father. But I'd totally hit that.

Here are some adorable children in Atlanta rapping that they can vote however they like. This isn't so much parody as it is antifreeze for my cold, cynical heart.

Aww.

I hope those kids didn't Google their performance and land on this clip.

It's totally inappropriate for the young folks, but the line "Late night sex so wet and so tight/ is probably something I won't be getting but I'm gonna do it right" should be eligible for a Grammy.

So thank you, T.I., for creating a song that appeals to school children, undergrads, and those performers who stand to make a buck of the election of our next president.

Ray-Ray Goes Bye-Bye

2008-12-03T20:21:00.003-05:00

There's something surprising in this Herald story about Rachael Ray's recent Boston book signing. And I'm not talking about the revelation that Ray isn't as sickeningly perky behind the scenes as she is before an audience.

Still signing, the 40-year-old celebrity chef dismissed a question about favorite recipes - “I have no favorite foods” - one about her now-defunct Dunkin’ Donuts gig - “I am no longer associated with Dunkin’ Donuts. But I still drink coffee”[.]

Since Ray's been driving me insane since she started shilling for the Canton-based chain, I'm not sad to see her go. But I recall her contract running until 2010.

Maybe some of you entertainment legal eagles can fill me in on the nuances of endorsement deals. Is the 2010 date cited in the E! article like a baseball contract, and the last two years could have been her option years?

Or am I right in thinking that Dunks got tired of us questioning her dedication to its brand and exercised its Starbucks-drinking clause and gave her the boot? I guess I shouldn't question this good fortune, but I'm curious. If you know the reason, let me know.

Notice to Gawker: Clark Rockefeller Was Awesome the Whole Time

2008-12-03T19:15:00.004-05:00

It seems that Gawker has had some trouble with Boston-based stories this week. Adam Gaffin at Universal Hub noticed that a law firm that the site thought was a fake is actually real. Now I'm all riled up because the New York-based site just realized the Clark Rockefeller case is fascinating because Vanity Fair wrote about it.

Hey, Gawker? Rockefeller has been intriguing since the days when those dying newspapers were covering him.

When I was with my previous employer (sob), my colleage Francis Storrs and I were blogging about this mystery man from the time he was nabbed in Baltimore with his daughter. We had a peg because he'd lived in Boston with her and tried to paint himself as a Brahmin. You had a peg because he claimed to be a member of the famous New York family. But you only have two posts (including today's) about him.

I know it was an election year, but surely you could have found some time this summer to write about the Rockefeller who turned out to be just a German immigrant?

Also, the my very awesome former colleague (sniffle) wrote a story on Rockefeller's time in Boston in last month's issue of Boston magazine, so Vanity Fair is a little late to the magazine profile party. I'll take this as further proof that Boston is better than New York and will move on.

License to Booze

2008-12-03T11:23:00.004-05:00

Aside from giving us the greatest undercover video still since Plunder Dome, the investigation into Dianne Wilkerson also revealed what restaurateurs have known for years—that the process of getting a liquor license in Boston is harder to figure out than a Rubik's Cube. And much like those jerks who claim to have solved the puzzle but really just peeled the stickers off, most people who succeed are cheating.

Erm, excuse me. Have hired a law firm that has an astonishing success rate with the Boston Licensing Board. Which is just further proof that the system is in serious need of an overhaul.

The Boston Municipal Research Bureau, a business-funded city watchdog, says liquor licenses should be handed out by the city with more oversight.
"Why not give the city the authority to manage it?" bureau president Samuel R. Tyler said.

Here's what the city should do—hire me as Liquor Czarina. I'll allow any booze-serving hopeful the chance to obtain a license. I will judge these purveyors of drunkenness on the same criteria as the lawyers at McDermott, Quilty & Miller, but I'll be working for the city and judging everyone equally.

And each establishment will have to bring a signature drink to me to make sure they're properly serving customers. I have a taste for everything from Narragansett Beer to delicious designer cocktails, so I'll make sure every cheap beer is served cold and in a can, and that the balance between mixer and liquor is appropriate. Everyone (especially me) wins!

The Seal Station

2008-12-02T23:55:00.004-05:00

I had my television tuned to WHDH as I was preparing to leave the house for trivia night. I use the station as a kind of background noise, really only paying attention when the weather comes on.

As I zipped up my boots around 4:30, the inanity of one particular story started to creep into my consciousness. (I preface this with the disclaimer that I wasn't paying complete attention to the item, and that the clip won't load on my computer for some reason, so some of the details may be a little off.) I started paying attention when I noticed Channel 7 had decided to trot out the breathless "JUST ONE STATION" logo.

For a story about a seal on a beach.

It would have been one thing if the story was a quick 30-second item that none of Channel 7's competitors elected not to pick up. But it just. kept. going.

There were interviews with eyewitnesses, who essentially told Byron Barnett that the seal rolled one way, then rolled back the other way. Children were delighted. Then Barnett chased the animal's rescuers down the beach as they carried the seal off the sand for observation. One made a snippy remark about how all the attention made it hard to save the animal, but Barnett wouldn't let their disdain keep him from the 4:30 show's big story.

I appreciate the cuteness of marine life as much as the next person, but the world has bigger problems than a little seal who couldn't manage to get himself off the beach. Unless we're using this as a metaphor for the continuing erosion of capitalism as we know it. Somehow, I doubt that was the intention.

Pat Purcell Gets Into the Townie Paper Business (Again)

2008-12-02T12:42:00.004-05:00

It seems that Matt Amorello and I would do well to become friends with Rupert Murdoch. While the former Turnpike Authority chairman and I are still unemployed, Herald owner and publisher Pat Purcell has gotten a second job from the Aussie media mogul. Purcell will be responsible for Ottaway Newspapers, Inc., which has several townie papers in Massachusetts.

Purcell will keep his gig at the Herald, and the tabloid's report indicates that Ottaway and the Herald may work together in the future. (Is that a new hyperlocal online experiment to counter the one made by Boston.com I smell cooking?) There's no talk of any layoffs or restructuring right now, so I hope my journalistic brethren at the local Ottaway papers will fare well.

I can see why Dow Jones (the parent company of Ottaway), gave Purcell the job. He's got loads of experience with community papers. Granted, it wasn't all good experience, but maybe he learned from his mistakes.

Give a Damn About Financing Your Education

2008-12-02T12:16:00.003-05:00

When I was applying to colleges in the late 1990s, it seemed like the world was my oyster. Bill Clinton was president, and we were still living in a dot-com bubble. Credit flowed freely, and the nation's biggest problem was where Clinton stored his cigars. Everything seemed limitless.

Fast-forward through nearly a decade of George W. Bush, risky investments, and my first-ever unemployment stint, and I have to say that you college-aged kids out there shouldn't worry about attending a school that isn't your first choice.

As a spendthrift by nature, I didn't worry too much about going into debt for college. My mother warned me that it was a lot of money to pay back when I graduated, but it didn't bother me. The economy was great—surely the rising tide would lift the boat of even the most poor writers, and I'd manage.

I did attend a state school for a year (thanks again for losing my financial aid paperwork, Emerson!), and I hated it. I loathed seeing everyone I ever knew in high school. The writing program at URI was horrible. I knew I wasn't going to get the education I needed there, so I transferred to Emerson my sophomore year.

I don't regret my decision to attend Emerson, largely because Sallie Mae has yet to develop the technology to repossess the education and experience I got there if I can't make the payments. But if I could have seen the financial landscape that awaited me in my late 20s, I might have chosen the University of Maine or another institution far enough away from home, but with a more affordable program.

So don't worry, young folks. If you've got the talent and the ambition to do something with your life, it doesn't matter if your degree says Harvard College or the University of Massachusetts, especially as you enter college during a recession. Just work your ass off where ever you end up, and it'll be just fine.

Unless, of course, things get worse. In which case, we can burn our degrees for warmth.

The Economic Downturn Hits Matt Amorello

2008-12-02T07:55:00.003-05:00

Dear Matt Amorello,

Dude. I feel ya.

Today's Herald reports that your estranged wife and a judge say you need to get a job. Your Missus reports that you haven't brought home a paycheck since May. You're deep in credit card debt. You might even lose your Wenham home. So now you're under a court order to apply for 15 jobs a week.

Are there even 15 jobs to be filled in the Boston area? We have been in a recession since December 2007, after all.

But Matt, I know you've been trying. You joined Facebook last month to start networking with old contacts. It's hard for any Republican in Massachusetts to get a gig right now, nevermind one with a history like yours. It may come down to the accepting the position the Herald's designers helpfully suggest—slinging fries at a fast food joint. (Though I'm thinking I'd take a job at Dunkin' Donuts first. I'm afraid I'd scald myself with burning oil at McDonald's.)

Keep fighting the good fight, Matt. I'll see you on the bread lines.

Best,
Amy Derjue

Red Sox Fandom Springs Eternal

2008-12-01T22:24:00.004-05:00

According to this year's Turnkey (mmm, turkey) Team Brand Index, the Green Bay Packers have the most rabid fan base of any pro football, baseball, hockey, or basketball franchise in America. Our beloved Red Sox came in second.

While I'm not doubting the amount of passion an adult must feel to be willing to wear a block of styrofoam cheese on his or her head, this doesn't seem quite right. Let's review the methodology.

The online survey measured such things as team popularity, fan loyalty and assessments of owners. It asked participants about their perceptions of teams — How entertaining it is to attend games? Is the organization’s appreciation of fans genuine? Does the team have likable players?

I'm guessing the company didn't ask fans whether or not they had the opportunity to be buried in a coffin bearing their favorite team's logo, because otherwise the Red Sox would have ranked higher.

In yet another disclaimer-free Red Sox culture story, the Globe reports that the MLB has allowed a coffin company to use the Red Sox logo (and other MLB team logos) on its products. Green Bay Packers fans have to spiff up their own coffins, since Google doesn't turn up any companies that have the right to use an NFL franchise's logo on its urns.

To me, the fact that the MLB allowed this proves that Red Sox Nation is clearly more passionate about its team than are Packers fans. Although I choose not to dwell too long on the fact that the same company that makes the Sox coffins also makes caskets for Trekkies and urns for cat ashes. We're enthusiastic—not socially awkward fanatics like nerds and cat ladies. Right?!

The Economy Changes Its Facebook Status to 'In a Recession'

2008-12-01T14:56:00.002-05:00

Well shoot. Looks like I am fortunate that I kept my job as long as I did.

The U.S. economy has been in a recession since December 2007, the National Bureau of Economic Research said Monday.

Man. Time flies when you're in the midst of a recession, doesn't it?

Emerson Still Hates Club Kids

2008-12-01T11:03:00.004-05:00

While I may have graduated from Emerson College five years ago, I'm glad to see that some things haven't changed.

"Well, we're complaining about assholes blocking the street, getting drunk and [getting] in fights," said junior theatre studies major Brian Tweedy as he stood in front of the Gypsy Bar's doorway. "[Emerson] should give us somewhere that's convenient to smoke."

The entitlement of the Emerson community remains intact. As does its ingrained disdain for the clubs that occupy that space. Back in my day, my classmates and I would openly scoff at the eurotrash club kids who'd line up outside Pravda on weekend nights. But we also didn't smoke in front of their doorway. That's what the Little Building entrance is for.

D.C. or Bust

2008-12-01T10:27:00.004-05:00

If you're not willing to sleep on someone's sofa, then you clearly don't want to attend the inauguration of Barack Obama as badly as you claim. Today's Globe is filled with stories about the scads of blue-state Bostonians who want to be in D.C. for the big day, but may settle for a Hub-based party.

My motto? No sleep till Washington.

There's no reason not to head to the nation's capital for this historic event. Amtrak links Boston and D.C., so you need not even fly. And it's not like you'll need a place to sleep.

Here's what you do: Get to Washington on Monday night. Head to one of the bars or raging house parties that will doubtlessly be going until all hours of Tuesday morning. Grab a cup of coffee and stake out a place along the motorcade route early on January 20 and enjoy the spectacle. Hit another party that night, and catch some sleep on the first train back to Boston on Wednesday morning.

Sure, it makes for an exhausting couple of days. But with the terror attacks in India and an economy that refuses to stop sinking, it won't be anything like the sleepless nights that await President Obama.

Rhode Island Treasurer Caprio Woos Massachusetts Shoppers

2008-11-29T10:15:00.005-05:00

Greetings from the state of Rhode Island! Since I've spent the past few days camped out at my mother's house, I've been watching our local news. Amid the stories of the latest record-setting blood alcohol content (kudos for not dying, dude!) is this interesting item.

Rumored gubernatorial hopeful and current Rhode Island State Treasurer Frank Caprio has installed billboards near the border of Massachusetts telling Bay Staters to spend, spend, spend on clothes in the Ocean State, since there is no sales tax on clothing here. He's even spent some of his campaign funds to create a website, which features a video of the too-tan Caprio giving potential out-of-state visitors the hard sell.

But Caprio is really reaching with this. Massachusetts doesn't have a sales tax on clothes for the first $175. After that, the Bay State only taxes on the amount over $175. So if you spend $300 on some astoundingly expensive specialty item, you pay only $6.25 in tax. Unless you live in Attleboro or drive a hybrid, you'll spend more on gas to get here than you'd save.

Also: Why aren't Rhode Islanders really angry that their treasurer is using this opportunity to raise some extra money to better his political career? Rhode Island is facing a budget deficit of at least $357 million in FY2009, and perhaps as much as $486 million for FY2010. Legislators on Smith Hill are preaching the same breathless rhetoric about needing new revenue as their cohorts on Beacon Hill. Why not start taxing luxury items in the Ocean State to make a few extra bucks instead of cutting services for those who can't afford a mink coat?

Caprio will argue that Rhode Island will collect the various meal and lodging taxes from shoppers who come to enjoy a break from the tyranny of Taxachusetts. But maybe he should stop playing governor and start acting like a treasurer. Most Rhode Island voters will be happy to watch the state get some revenue from those who aren't as white-knuckled as they are during this economic meltdown.

Ethics, Schmetics

2008-11-28T13:51:00.003-05:00

In an attempt to wipe the tarnish off its reputation, the Legislature has several competing plans to improve the ethical behavior of its members. Some ideas, like six-year term limits for the position of House Speaker, seem wise. Others, like ethics training every two years, are a complete waste of time.

(Can't you just imagine the retro film strip now? It will be titled "Ethics and you!" And just like the classrooms of yore, nobody would care.)

But none of the plans seem to address the major issue that's kept people like House Majority Leader John Rogers in place, even in the face of serious allegations.

There's no one agency or person who's responsible for investigating and prosecuting all the ethical violators on Beacon Hill.

Secretary of State Bill Galvin keeps track of the lobbyists, but does not have the power to compel them to talk. That's the responsibility of the Attorney General. Martha Coakley has asked a grand jury to look into the dealings of Cognos "strategist" and friend of Sal DiMasi, Richard Vitale. Galvin has also asked her to investigate the work Joe Lally did for the software giant.

For campaign finance violations, the Office of Campaign and Political Finance investigates and refers any criminal activity to the Attorney General. The FBI apparently keeps tabs on those who would use their position to help secure a liquor license. All this inter-agency volleying seems like it would lead to a lot of dropped balls. Perhaps we need one agency to keep tabs on all the players on Beacon Hill, be they lobbyists, friends of politicians with business before the Legislature, or just a good old-fashioned crooked salon?

I'm sure Gov. Deval Patrick's 12-member ethics task force will figure it out at one of their closed-door meetings.

The Derjue-Turner Disadvantage

2008-11-27T14:00:00.001-05:00

For single people in their twenties, Thanksgiving Eve is the time when they go out to their local townie bar with the few people they've remained in touch with during high school and get drunk. The thought occurred to me last night as I was emailing my former colleague, Joe Keohane, last night.

I was sitting in my Mom's house on Thanksgiving Eve, alone. Stone-cold sober. The people I still talk to from high school were out of town, and I feared to brave the dive bar alone. The only person lamer than me was Keohane, who was emailing while on vacation.

"Do a post about who's worse off, you or Chuck [Turner]," Keohane suggested. Hmm. The embattled Boston City Councilor and I both had a pretty tough week. It seems like a worthwhile experiment as I rest my stomach between Thanksgiving meals.

Chuck Turner has the FBI meddling in his affairs.
I had to deal with the less than cheerful staff at the Unemployment Insurance TeleClaim Center. Did everyone get laid off two days before the holiday? Because I was on the phone for an hour.

Disadvantage: Turner

Chuck Turner spent the day before Thanksgiving handing out meals at a Goodwill in Roxbury with City Council President Maureen Feeney, who's looking to oust him. Awkward.
I spent my day before Thanksgiving explaining to a classmate from high school that I'd just lost my job. At least Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen were bringing sexy to Goodwill.

Disadvantage: Derjue

Chuck Turner was caught with his fly down. Literally.
::Checks zipper:: I'm good to go!

Disadvantage: Turner

Chuck Turner is viewed as a raving lunatic, except by his army of sign-toting supporters.
Nobody has come forward to say as much about me.

Disadvantage: Turner

Chuck Turner still has a job.
Me? Not so much. (Email's on the sidebar!)

Disadvantage: Derjue

So there we have it. In a squeaker, Chuck Turner has had a worse week than I have. While I may not have an income for the time being, at least I didn't have to pony up a $50,000 bond. Just another thing to be grateful for on this day of thanks.

Giving Thanks. Yes, Really.

2008-11-26T14:22:00.005-05:00

Well. That happened.

I'd like to thank everyone for the kind emails, calls, text messages, and riotous comments left on Boston Daily. I haven't responded to everyone yet, but know that I really appreciate it.

And yes, I'm fine. Really. That's not to say this doesn't suck mightily, nor that I'm not really disappointed. But I can't be angry with my colleagues over at BoMag. They took a big gamble in giving a girl with a writing degree and a Blogger account a job with a major city magazine. That kind of thing usually only happens in movies or chick lit novels. I think it worked out better than they thought it would. As I've been writing for the past year and a half, the media business is horrible right now, and I'm the one they chose to let go. That's baseball.

It's funny how losing a job is like a breakup. I'm in Rhode Island for the holiday, and I went out to get some last-minute Thanksgiving fixings by myself. I must have heard that Leona Lewis song that says "It'll all get better with time" about four times. And it will.

I also heard the song "Amy." You know, the one with the chorus that says "Amy, what you wanna do?" That one, I'm not so sure about. I'm thinking about it, obviously. I'd love to keep writing and snarking for my pay, for sure.

But I can't freak out over how that will happen this weekend. I'm going to drown my unemployment sorrows in turkey and wine, enjoy the one holiday I'll have with my paternal grandparents this season, and start making some calls on Monday.

But, since this is Thanksgiving, let's run down the list of things I'm thankful for. Obviously, the first item from last year's list will be a little different.

I'm thankful that Boston gave me the opportunity to work for them.
I'm thankful for the nice blogging on the part of Adams Gaffin and Reilly, and Paul Flannery.
I'm thankful for all the great people I met while I worked at BoMag.
I'm thankful for my excellent friends and family who have offered me their couches, their booze, and their efforts to get me a new gig ASAP.
I'm thankful for the family I babysit for, who've already offered me my a room if I need it. And it's a bigger room than the last time they housed my broke ass!
I'm thankful that I'm healthy.
I'm thankful the election worked out the way I wanted it to.
I'm thankful as always to my vices of coffee and alcohol.
I'm thankful that Tina Fey is working.
I'm thankful that I finally found a pair of skinny jeans that doesn't make my butt look weird. Now I can wear boots AND pants at the same time!
I'm thankful for Facebook. Seriously, I have a problem.
I'm thankful in advance for the person who gives me my next job.

Until I get a new gig, you'll find me back here, at long-neglected pasquinade. It's all the snark you loved (or hated) at Boston Daily, but with more first-person profanity and interaction in the comments. Hopefully I'll spruce this place up a little bit in the coming days. And if you'd like to feed me, buy me some booze, or give me a job (hey, it's either shameless self-promotion or the bread lines), hit me up at the email in the sidebar.

More NewsQuiz Goodness

2008-11-16T19:46:00.002-05:00

I need a haircut. But they still let me on the TV!

Round two:

And the final question:

Stranded in Singleville

2008-11-16T19:34:00.003-05:00

I've recently become sick of being single. Usually, I can deal with it, especially when I watch couples who clearly hate each other bicker on the street. I have been that couple; I do not wish to do it again. But lately, the couples who are all schmoopy and hold hands and do things together in Red Sox hats on Sunday afternoons are resonating with me.

So, I've been trying to put myself out there. I'm casually seeing someone, but I'm not sure if it will work, so I'm trying to make an effort to be open to new people. I'm smiling back at men on the train. And last night, I decided to chat up a dude who'd been ogling me at the bar.

He was cute—maybe in his late 30s, with glasses and a touch of gray in his hair. Things started out well enough. He was asked about what I do, talked about his job in marketing, and chatted a little with my friends.

Then, the ass-grabbing began. And apparently, when I left to hit the ladies, he described himself as "a prick" to my friends. He used the fishing dance move only semi-ironically. He was bombed. The situation was fast deteriorating, so I started to ignore him.

"You're mad," he said, his breath reeking of gin. "You're ignoring me."

Um, yes. I am ignoring you. Which I might not have done had you not fondled my butt two seconds after we started talking. I might have given you the benefit if you didn't advertise your douchebagginess to my friends, then backed up your claim by not once offering to buy any of us a drink. And I was 100 percent confident in my choice when I looked back and saw you feeling up yet another girl once you caught the hint that I was not going to go home with you.

"There are a lot of jerks out there," my mother told me this afternoon. And my ass is apparently their catnip.

Recollections of Election Night

2008-11-05T17:11:00.002-05:00

I didn't get to experience CNN calling the election for Barack Obama first-hand. Some friends and I had just left the Sonia Chang-Diaz celebration at the Alchemist Lounge (read the work blog here) to head to the MassEquality party at Club Cafe. We were fervently hailing a cab on South Huntington when a huge, boisterous cheer went up inside the bar.

Just then, a cab pulled up. As we piled in, we heard the muted voices of NPR, and asked our driver if Obama had won.

"Yes," he said. My friends cheered, and our Ethiopian cabbie joined in.

As we sped through the South End, the NPR broadcast continued, with several cheers audible from the studio. As one of my friends, who volunteered for Obama during the primaries, called her parents and cried happily, I thought about what we'd just experienced.

When I was a kid, I was told that anyone could become president, even a person of color or a woman. But it always seemed remote and impossible, like hovercrafts or the idea most people would one day own cellular phones.

Last night, I saw a man be elected not because of the color of his skin, but in spite of it. There was plenty of ugly race baiting throughout this nearly two-year campaign, but most Americans didn't fall for it. Instead, they voted because they think this awkward-looking guy will be the one to pull the country out of its many problems.

I've never experienced the mind-blowing elation that many Obama supporters exhibit, largely because I'm the hard-hearted cynical type that the president-elect railed against in his speech last night. But I hope that he can make good on the promises he's made to help the little people and make the presidency something other than the world's punchline.

Civic Doodie

2008-11-03T21:21:00.003-05:00

Everyone from Brian Williams to your Mom has told you to get out and vote. If you'd indulge me for a moment, I'd like to add my voice to the chorus. Vote. I don't care what or whom you vote for, as long as it's not yes on Question 1. Because that shit is crazy.

Now if you need me, I'm going to finish watching SNL's pre-election show, go to bed, and crawl into a bottle of tequila until we've got a new president. But, hey, free coffee!

Denis Leary Is An Assh*le About Autism

2008-10-24T15:35:00.003-04:00

When I get pleas to donate to my alma mater, Emerson College, my typical reaction is a deep guffaw and a profanity-laden tirade about how they'll get a donation from me once my student loan balances dip below five figures. I hate to be deny my artsy brethren, but a girl's got to eat.

That was the reaction I had when I got a fundraising letter from Denis Leary, a fellow Emerson alum. But some other recipients are angry that the college tapped Leary to ask for money because he's since made some controversial remarks about autism.

Let's all calm down a little, please.

In his forthcoming book, "Why We Suck: A Feel Good Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy and Stupid," Leary, in a chapter titled "Autism Schmautism," wrote: "There is a huge boom in autism right now because inattentive mothers and competitive dads want an explanation for why their [expletive] kids can't compete academically, so they throw money into the happy laps of shrinks."

People. It's Denis Leary. The guy who wrote a song about how proud he is to be an asshole. It's probably best to take this with a grain of salt.

As an alum, I'm more upset that my college continues to cultivate a relationship with a man who got his career started by flagrantly plagiarizing Bill Hicks. In fact, has anyone checked to see if Hicks made any comments about autism before his death? Because odds are, Leary stole this from him too.

A Weekend of Autumnal Fun

2008-10-19T17:19:00.003-04:00

As much as I hate what fall means (the precious few hours of daylight; six months of trudging through snow), I do love fall weekends. Yesterday, I took the kids I babysit to Salem for the day. It's a much different experience when you have the under-12 set with you. There are many trips back to the car for supplies. Making sure everyone has used the bathroom that needs to. And walking the fine line between boring and terrifying.

After taking in the pumpkin festival on Salem Common, I took my charges to see Cry Innocent, a neat mock witch trial. I figured it would give the kids some history, but wouldn't scare the crap out of the baby like the Witch Museum would have.

The actors presented their testimony, and then asked the audience if they had any questions. Eldest raised her hand, squirming she was so eager to be heard. After a guy in a Darth Vader costume had questioned the witch, Eldest got to say her piece.

"How come everybody believes these people? All the things they're talking about happened at night while they were asleep. Maybe they were just dreaming." She said it in a tone that screamed What the hell is wrong with you people? which caused the room erupted in applause, and eldest sat back in her seat, face bright red, but smiling.

At the end of the play, she said to me, "These people are crazy." Ah, history.

Today I spent the day cooking and cleaning. At long last, I trudged to the laundromat and washed my comforter cover. I swear that when I wash this thing, the colors become way more vibrant. I need to be more diligent in this regard.

I finally made some pumpkin bread, and also some roasted butternut squash with blue cheese and pecans. It's been weeks since I last ate a vegetable, so I shoveled the bright orange goodness down at a fast pace. Now I'm working on the chicken and rosemary I made. Healthy!

And on Friday night, I was on NECN again for the ever-popular NewsQuiz. Jim Braude wasn't there, but Chet Curtis made a fine substitute. Here are the clips. (And if you haven't seen me in a while, yes, my hair is very short. I love it, because I am too lazy to style it when it's long.)

So that's what's up with me. How are things with you? Oh, and Go Sox!

Oh Hai

2008-09-20T12:57:00.002-04:00

Wow. Two months fly by, eh?

I know it's been a while since I posted, and for that I apologize. Boston Daily is keeping me pretty busy, and when I get home I'm usually not tempted to fire up Blogger and lay forth some more.

But life goes on, even if I don't blog it. I still have zits. I'm still in dire financial straits. Still single. You know, the same shit that's been happening since I started blogging a few years back.

Here's an anecdote for you. The other day, I was heading out to Brookline to babysit after work. I'm sitting on the train, reading my book, when a woman gets on a Coolidge Corner with a gigantic Trader Joe's bag she half-parks on my lap. I glare at her, but she only slightly shifted it off me. Then she opens a plastic bag and the strong smell of chocolate comes out.

And she starts to eat ice cream. And, hey, I understand the power of a craving for chocolate ice cream. But she was eating it with a soup spoon, and it was kind of melty.

Sluuuuurp. Slurp. Sip. SLUUUUURP.

It's not like she was eating anything stinky or repulsive, but it was a disturbing sound to hear while commuting. I thought it was just me, but the people sitting around the ice cream slurper were also shooting daggers at her.

So, commuters, do us a favor. Don't eat ice cream while riding.

I Can't See the Destiny You Sold

2008-08-22T13:30:00.002-04:00

I was making the rounds last night, and I started chatting up this cute Northwestern guy. He was considerably older than me (late 30s? early 40s?) but was cute in a slightly paunchy silver-haired way. I checked his hands—no ring.

The silver fox was visiting from out of town, and asked me if I knew of any restaurants. I figured he'd want some company, but played it cool. Then, it happened.

"I can't be out too late tonight," he said. "My wife will be mad if I come home exhausted."

What is it with guys who don't wear a wedding band? Not only is it disappointing for me, but after I find out I've been digging on a guy with a Mrs. at home, I feel like a whore. I believe that married men should have some kind of identifying mark on them at all times. It's hard enough being single without getting into fights with a wife we didn't know existed.

The Trouble With Social Networking

2008-08-17T20:20:00.003-04:00

In these days of Facebook and MySpace, it's hard to get excited for a high school reunion.

Last night, I logged on to Facebook and found that I'd been invited to join a group for my high school graduating class. We're coming up on our ten year reunion (?!) and one of my super-organized classmates wants to get a head start on gathering information and planning the event.

The whole fun of a high school reunion is "catching up," which is a euphemism for "finding out who got fat." But when I check the group page for my reunion, there are the slightly aged faces of the people with whom I spent my hate-filled adolescence. If they don't have private profiles, I can read all about where they're working and what their kids look like. What's the point of losing five pounds and ~~hiring a male escort~~ finding a date now?

Don't get me wrong—I'm still going. It just would have been more fun to show up skinnier and less miserable without people already knowing that's what's happened to me in the past decade.

We're Not Little Children, And We Know What We Want

2008-07-28T21:43:00.004-04:00

Sometimes, I wish I could have a birthday likes the ones I had when I was a kid.

You know, the parties where there was a Slip-n-Slide and a cake with a unicorn on it off of which your little brother had already stolen a smidge of frosting when your mother wasn't looking. Waterballoon fights, noisemakers, all of the fun without any of the self-doubt.

Not that I didn't have a good birthday weekend. A and S came down to Rhode Island for a day at the beach. It was perfect on Saturday, aside from the surf that was so strong the lifeguards were dashing into the waves every few minutes to save someone who'd gotten sucked out on a rip current. Then we went out in Newport, where actual straight men checked us out.

Which would have been fine, but my partying spirit had left me shortly after our delicious dinner. Just hours away from officially entering my late 20s, it hit me. Late 20s.

For a woman in her late 20s, I'm kind of a fuck-up.

Yes, I have a good job. But I've also got more debt than some third world countries. I've got more acne than I did when I was a teenager. I'm so chronically single, even my great grandbaby-hungry grandmother has stopped nagging me about bringing a man home to meet the family. While I never had a detailed plan for my life as a kid, I figured I'd have my shit a little more together by 27.

But at least I have good peeps, a good job, and beer to get me by until I pull myself together.

Pond Day

2008-07-08T17:02:00.003-04:00

Yesterday evening, I went to see the family I babysit for. They'd just come back from Europe, and I still had their car keys from when I'd dropped them off at the airport a few weeks ago. The kids' sweat-soaked mother opened the door and collected the keys. As we chatted, Baby (who is now four, which makes me feel older than a redwood tree) appeared on the stairs and repeated my name like a mantra until I looked up at her.

"I went to farm camp today," she announced proudly. Her older siblings had both attended this day camp, and she'd been excited to finally go for months.

"And tomorrow is pond day," she added.

"What's pond day?" I asked.

"We're gonna catch frogs and butterflies in nets," she explained.

In that moment, I was intensely jealous of a 4-year-old. The weather this week is beautiful, despite the sweltering heat. While I love my job, I miss summers spent outside, riding bikes and foraging for slimy creatures in swamps and lakes. Baby spent her day dripping sweat and picking strands of slime off her fingers. I spent my day sitting at my desk, drinking several cups of lukewarm office coffee, stopping only to venture to the gym to ward off obesity and arthritis as best I can.

I thought being a grown-up would be more fun than this.

God Bless America

2008-07-07T20:20:00.004-04:00

On the Fourth of July, some friends and I made our way to the Mass Ave bridge to check out the show. Despite hating Rascal Flatts with a deep passion, I wanted to enjoy the pyrotechnics.

My friends and I got a spot along the railing that separates the road from the sidewalk because we arrived around 8 p.m. We waved at an adorable baby in front of us, who squirmed in the arms of his Indian parents.

As the bridge got more crowded, people tried to encroach on the space we'd staked out. Stragglers stood on a small concrete ledge directly in front of us, and we asked them to move. Tourists plopped half their bodies on our blanket. Eventually, I spread out like it was a game of Twister to maintain our line of sight.

As the Pops performance began, two kids who looked like they might be 20-years-old climbed over the concrete ledge in front of us, and stopped directly in front of the Indian family in front of us. The baby's grandfather tugged on their shirts and indicated they should get out of the way, but the kids just shrugged and ignored him.

Sick of people's bad behavior, my friend and I started yelling at the kids, explaining the basic rule that if they'd wanted to be in front, they should have showed up before the show began. They rolled their eyes at us, as my other friend hid her eyes to disassociate herself from the two harpies.

When I looked back again, a large man who'd been sitting in a lawn chair at the front of the bridge stood up. He towered above the two punkasses who'd been arguing with us, and weighed easily 300 pounds. He bellowed at the kids, who continued to try to negotiate and stand in front of the crowd. The big man gesticulated wildly, pointing to indicate that the kids should get off the bridge, pronto, and started bumping them forward with his sizable belly.

As the two kids finally scampered off, the crowd erupted into cheers. A woman stood up, faced the crowd, and screamed "That's my man!" as he took his seat again, completely calm about the affair.

That inspired my sense of patriotism more than any crappy Rascal Flatts song ever could.

I Hate People When They're Not Polite

2008-06-30T20:48:00.004-04:00

There's nothing worse than facing a multitude of niggling annoyances on the Monday before a long weekend. I spent the day contending with some technical difficulties at work, and when I left I had visions of al fresco margaritas. I stopped at the bank to get a money order for my rent because the new checks I ordered hadn't arrived, and then hopped on the Green Line.

Somehow, I managed to get a seat on the crowded train. After a bunch of people got off at Park Street, a tall, grey-haired man moved to sit down next to me. He stepped on my toes on his way into the seat, and apologized quickly once he was seated. Then he flipped open his dungeons and dragons fantasy novel and started bouncing his leg.

Bounce bounce bounce bounce. I did my best to shift my weight to my left ass cheek to avoid contact with his bouncing leg, but I could still feel his leg twitching. Bounce bounce bounce bounce. Never had the ride to North Station felt so long. I was practically in the lap of the bored woman who was playing solitaire on her iPod to get away from his bouncing limb. Still could feel it. Bounce bounce bounce bounce.

It was all I could do not to slam my fist down on his upper thigh to make him stop. Finally, I got to North Station and bolted off the train toward my tequila-laced libations.

After sitting in the sun and sipping my drink, my mood was much improved. Until I came home and found my new order of checks waiting for me. So I didn't need to spend $5 for my money order.

Is it Thursday yet?

Back in the Kitchen

2008-06-29T13:59:00.003-04:00

Generally, I really enjoy cooking. There's something nice about following set steps and ending up with something tasty. But for the past six months, I haven't felt like cooking. Sure, I'd whip up some noodles or sautee some chicken in a sauce, but not a complete meal from scratch.

But I'm happy to report that I woke up today and went right for my cookbooks.

I decided to make Ina Garten's (love!) shrimp and orzo pasta salad. My kitchen was decimated, covered in escaped chunks of cucumber or springs of dill. I was dripping sweat (not in the food, naturally), my fingers smelled like onions and herbs, and I couldn't be happier. (Well, I could have been had I not had to de-vein the shrimp. I hate taking their poopers out.)

I think I have Martha Stewart to thank. As I was on my way to Gloucester for the Fisherman's Festival yesterday, I flipped on WGBH and saw Everyday Baking and a picture of lemon cupcakes. While that isn't the sweet treat I'm making in a little while (blueberries were cheap, so I went with blueberry cobbler), it got me interested in cooking again. I'm not even sure if my beloved KitchenAid will work when I turn it on again, but hopefully we'll find out soon.

And no, you can't have any.

Sigh

2008-06-23T10:39:00.002-04:00

Dear Whatever Higher Power,

You keep doing it wrong. You take Russert and George Carlin, and still Rush Limbaugh saunters the planet?

Please rectify the situation immediately.

Yours,
Amy

If It's Sunday...

2008-06-14T16:23:00.002-04:00

This morning, I woke up after a night of crappy sleep on my Mom's couch. I flipped on the TV to keep me company, and was greeted by a serious-looking Matt Lauer talking to NBC's medical correspondent about heart attacks. Then I saw the graphic.

"Holy shit," I said to no one. "Tim Russert died?!"

I watched Lauer get all misty remembering Russert's passion for politics and a good story, which got me going. At least he died doing what he loved, which is all any of us can hope for. I guess.

I hate Father's Day weekend.

I'm in the Business of Misery

2008-06-06T23:28:00.003-04:00

Tonight, A, S, and I went to the Harpoon Summer Session. After getting checked out by Ernie Boch, Jr. (he did not as us to come on down, thank God) we had too much beer and then decided to eat some sausage. (Not a euphemism. We were hungry, and there was sausage.)

A cute boy with a buzzcut and a green fleece jacket asked us how we liked our meat. Naturally, we said we enjoyed it, realized the double entendre, and went about our business.

Later, we were dancing to the awesome DJ and Green Fleece stood on the periphery, clearly wanting to dance but unwilling to come over and make a move. Eventually, his bombed friend E came over and jostled his way into my friend S, his less-bombed friend E came over to my friend A, and I danced with Green Fleece.

Later, I spied him groping my friend S while dancing with me. Which, hey, whatever. Bombed E, Less-Bombed E, and Green Fleece all took turns dancing with us. Eventually, the fine people at Harpoon decided to close up shop and we hopped on the shuttle bus. A, S, the two Es, and Green Fleece went out drinking, while my bitter ass got on the Red Line and went home.

I probably should have gone out for another drink with the cute boys and my friends. But I'd consumed a lot of beer at Harpoon, I got up at the asscrack today, and the last time I pushed my patience beyond my limits I ended up accusing a guy of homicide. So, I think I made the right call. Though I do miss Green Fleece. He was pretty.

Misadventures in Dating

2008-06-06T12:56:00.003-04:00

The a couple of weeks ago, the day job let out early and my work cohorts and I went out drinking. Several hours and half a dozen beers later, my friends picked me up and we went to a bar in Cambridge. At that point, I'd gone from drunk to hungover without sleeping and my stomach was distended from all the carbonation in my beers, so I ordered a Pabst and did my best to be social when really, all I wanted was to be in my bed.

A trio of guys came in to the bar, and did that annoying thing that boys do where they scan the room to see which girls are cute and most likely to talk to them. Sadly, the trio (which my friend M named "Dorky, Dull, and Douchebag") decided my friends and I would be the best candidates.

Douchebag chatted with my friend A and I, asking us where we went to school and what we do for work. He told us he worked for an architecture firm as a structural engineer, and that he'd worked on Emerson's new dorm and classroom building on Boylston Street.

"Oh," I said. "Did you engineer the scaffolding that fell on that guy and killed him too?"

My friends immediately shouted "Amy!" at me, along with several "I can't believe you said that"s. For his part, Douchebag was completely flabbergasted and stopped talking to me entirely. I was striving for jovial, but my unconcealed disdain for this drunk buffoon and my hangover combined to have it come out as entirely bitchy.

Not that I mind. The guy was a douchebag. But it does confirm that I will be a burden on society as I prepare to die alone in my old age.

Random

2008-05-15T16:16:00.003-04:00

This video is hilarious.

Don't ever change, you old dog.

***

Despite my efforts to consume as much free iced coffee as possible, I am still a zombie today. I went to bed an hour after American Idol ended. What gives?

***

I think that Amy Winehouse's "Rehab" may be the best song ever. It's been a year since I bought Back to Black and I still listen to the song when it comes up on my iPod.

Speaking of iPods, I am going to do my best to resist the temptation to buy either an iPod Touch or iPod Classic when I check out the grand opening of the Boylston Street store tonight. Now that my computer is updated, I am tempted to update everything else. Must. Resist. . .

***

My landlord didn't raise my rent this year, so I don't have to move. Praise Jeebus.

***

Dear Democrats,

More of this.

KThnxbai,
Amy

***

Seriously. Why isn't this coffee working? Maybe I need more.

Bumper Bus

2008-04-30T17:59:00.002-04:00

Since I've lived in my mercifully rat-free apartment in Somerville, the buses I take have had several close calls with erratic drivers. Horns blared, brakes squealed, and a bunch of commuters stumbled forward a few steps. I marveled at the talents of my bus drivers, who not only navigate tight corners in the unwieldy vehicles, but tolerate the assorted crazies who show up.

However, my accident-free bus streak has come to an end. As my bus poked its way toward a fork in the road, a cab suddenly swerved in front of it. I waited for the squeal of brakes and the stumbling commuters, but we came to a surprisingly gentle stop. Then the cabbie got out of his car and the bus driver put the bus into park.

"You've got to be kidding me," someone piped up behind me.

"You swerved right in front of me!" The driver yelled in his heavy Boston accent.

"I was right here!" The cabbie replied.

"No you weren't! You cut in front of me! Learn how to drive!"

The cabbie gave our driver such a death stare that I was absolutely sure he would either bust out a gun and start firing or come on board and issue a beatdown. My fears weren't assuaged by the bus driver throwing open the doors and looking at the right corner of the bus, which was nestled against the cab.

"I've got you on camera!" The driver shouted, pointing to the security camera in the front window. The cabbie looked nervous. "Pull up there and park," the driver hissed.

He closed the doors and went through the intersection. "Let me tell you how this is gonna work. I have to stay here until my supervisor shows up, so we stop here. The next bus will come up behind us." Midway through his explanation, passengers started heading for the exits. Some handed him their names and phone numbers to corroborate his story.

A kid who'd been standing at a pizza place nearby surveyed the scene as I walked by.

"He cut off the bus. What a cunt."

Indeed.

Adventures in Playoff Hockey

2008-04-22T19:50:00.003-04:00

I spent the entire day on Saturday walking around the city. Annette and I did some shopping and just reveled in the fact that we didn't need heavy coats to tolerate being outside. After walking over to the Hynes Convention Center, we walked back to North Station to take in the Bruins game.

We ended up at Porter's and grabbed a seat at the bar to watch the Bruins on one screen and the Red Sox on the other. At first, hardcore hockey fans had a few pre-game beers but the crowd thinned out as it got closer to the puck drop.

As we ate our food, the Bruins fell behind and an older guy sat down next to me. He was dressed in a Red Sox windbreaker, and loudly ordered a beer from the distracted bartender.

"Do you girls need a drink?" He asked us. "You need a drink. Get these girls a drink," he said, slapping his money down on the bar. We thanked him and turned back to our food.

"I just left the Red Sox game," he explained, slurring his words as he sipped his beer. "I was freezing my ass off. Now I have to find my car. It's somewhere over here."

We nodded, watching the Bruins' futile attempts at scoring.

"The Bruins are going to win this game," he slurred, patting my arm.

I was just about to chastise him for jinxing it, but then the black and gold did score. The bar went nuts, largely for the benefit of the Channel 7 cameras that were filming for the 11 o'clock news. He gave Annette and I high-fives.

"You girls like to party. I can tell," he slurred. "If you want to do a shot, go ahead. It's on me."

Annette is getting over the death flu and I wasn't in the mood to be rip-roaring drunk with a bunch of volatile hockey fans, so we turned down his offer. He chatted with us about his jobs and the steak he'd had for lunch, while repeating his offer for drinks.

After the Canadiens scored shortly after the Bruins broke ahead, the mood in the bar darkened. But our new pal declared the Bruins were going to win.

As soon as he said it, they did it.

Shortly after what proved to be the game-winner, our drunk old guy left the bar. I hope he didn't find his car for the safety of himself and others, but I do wish we'd seen him when we were watching Game 7.

Say Hello to My Little Friend

2008-04-13T15:00:00.003-04:00

I bought my last computer in 2001. Shortly after the 9/11 attacks, I figured life was too short to limit myself to the iMac I bought off my high school English teacher before I left for college. Also, having a portable computer made it easier to use Emerson's bandwidth to download mp3s.

But over the past few years, my baby wasn't as sharp as it used to be. All videos played in a Max Headroom-like manner. I had to upload pictures from my new digital camera at work because iPhoto couldn't handle the files. iTunes became a pain in the ass to run on the slow memory.

Finally, a few weekends ago I lost it. I was trying to get some work done on a Saturday, and my laptop couldn't even handle loading Boston.com without being a giant pain in the ass about it. As is my wont when I'm frustrated, I picked the thing up and slammed it on my wobbly IKEA laptop tray and yelled "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

It was time to say goodbye.

Later that weekend, I came home from a completely unsuccessful day at the Natick Mall Collection and checked out Apple's refurbished items page. Among the still-outrageous MacBook Pros and huge displays, I found a low-end MacBook for a mere $850. It was still too much money for me to spend in my debt-addled state, but it was impossible for me to work from home on my old laptop. That, and I'm a professional blogger. Mama needs to be able to blog while on the road. Justifying it as a tax writeoff for next year, I used the available credit and the remainder of my tax return to pay for my new baby.

Now that I have my new precious, I've realized I was navigating the Autobahn that is the information superhighway in an Edsel. My computer can ably play music while I use Microsoft word. Boston.com loads swimmingly. Gmail and Blogger can keep up with my keystrokes as I type. I can even use the WiFi on my new baby (a few months ago, my old laptop stopped recognizing its AirPort card). That, and there's this new application called Photobooth that allows me to take goofy self-portraits to my heart's content. I bet it will be fun at parties.

I will always have a soft spot for my old laptop. We went through a lot together, from freelance projects to the end of my college career to shitty basement apartments. But I hope my new baby and I have an even better life together.

What's My News IQ?

2008-03-29T10:39:00.003-04:00

Yeah, yeah, I suck. I haven't blogged here in approximately eight years. I do hope that you guys are checking out Boston Daily. Writing all day long has forced me to "hone my craft" (barf, but true) and it's probably funnier than what I wrote here. Also, I am tired after writing all day and don't have much energy or material left for here. I'm not as dedicated as Gov. Patrick and won't write much on nights and weekends.

Another bonus of working for a "real" publication is that the PR people occasionally parade the writers around like show ponies. Last night I took my first spin around the ring on Jim Braude's NewsNight News Quiz. Every Friday, three media-type people answer questions about the week's news for nothing more than bragging rights and free publicity.

I went up against Joe Joyce and Bill Fallon. Both had been and felt pretty confident heading in since I was a newbie and a blogger. Unfortunately for them, they neglected to realize that my job is to obsessively read the news.

Enjoy. Hopefully they invite me back soon.

Just a Fool

2008-02-19T18:37:00.002-05:00

While I'm exhausted and looking forward to wearing color again tomorrow, I am happy to report I held it together well at the funeral today. Aside from a few sobs during the hymns and after watching my friend's dad kiss his wife's coffin, I was okay. I was able to talk reasonably with my friend and even comfort another friend.

My friend's Mom was a loved lady. Cars stretched far in front and behind us as we drove from the church to the gravesite, and the line of well-wishers at the wake was out the door. While I wish there could be some way for her to have had more time, all any of us can hope for is to be so loved while we're here.

Crying Fool

2008-02-18T21:31:00.004-05:00

I wish there were some way I could practice getting better at dealing with death. I guess the only rehearsal any of us gets is imagining what it will be like to live without a loved one while he or she is still here. But that doesn't work for me.

I thought about this on the way to New Hampshire for the wake of one of my best friend's mother. She called me on Saturday morning to tell me her mom had finally lost to the cancer she'd been battling for more than two years. As her voice cracked on the other end of the phone, I immediately started to sob. I got myself together only to immediately lose it again when I called a mutual friend to pass along the news. I was watching something on TV I wanted my mother to see, and cried again when I told her.

Stupidly, I decided to see There Will Be Blood last night, and was trying to finish the Charles Schulz biography I was reading (spoiler: he dies of cancer), leaving me so emotional that I was that person who cries quietly on the train while other passengers look away. I woke up this morning, hoping I could keep it together in front of my friend and her family at the wake.

I was fine until I started looking at the pictures of my friend's parents on their wedding day. They both looked so cute and so young, and it wasn't that long ago they were married. I got it back together until I waved at my friend, who sadly waved back. A friend handed me a tissue as I got close to the casket and I composed myself enough to hug her family and choke out an "I'm sorry."

"Don't cry," my friend warned as I started to lose it again after I let her out of a hug.

I hate being the emotional basketcase when people die. I wish I could just mist up at the appropriate times and save the sobbing for the privacy of my apartment. I want to be able to hug my friend and be strong for her, but I can't manage to do that. Instead, I'll be hiding in the back of the church tomorrow at the funeral. I know the most important thing is that I show up and show my friend I care. I just wish I could accomplish that without sobbing my way through a box of Kleenex.

Eureka!

2008-02-08T15:39:00.000-05:00

I've finally learned why I'm broke.

If you're sad and shopping, watch your wallet: A new study shows people's spending judgment goes out the window when they're down, especially if they're a bit self-absorbed.

It's like they know me.

Now to find a way to justify my credit card balances as a legitimate mental problem so I am no longer responsible for paying them off.

Ouch

2008-02-03T23:18:00.001-05:00

Um. What the fuck just happened?

Pride Goeth Before Being Triple-Charged

2008-02-02T10:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I read all about commuters who couldn't buy their T passes yesterday morning because all the Charlie Card machines were overloaded. I smugly noted that I'd bought my T pass on Thursday night, so I was all set for February. Suckas!

Alas, my smugness has come back to bite me. When I checked my bank account this morning, I found that my T pass charge had posted on Thursday night. But there are two pending charges from the MBTA. One $59 charge is marked as a deposit, and another is marked as an additional withdrawal.

I hope that all works out. I can't even begin to fathom trying to reconcile the two most inefficient entities I deal with on a regular basis—the MBTA and Sovereign Bank.

Hillary Clinton Has a Vagina, As Do I. So What?

2008-01-22T14:48:00.000-05:00

Most of my political reflection has been confined to the work blog lately. But one thing that's been bothering me during my endless searching around the internet for Mitt Romney's latest misstep is the idea that women may feel like a traitor to their sex if they don't vote for Hillary Clinton.

Finally, I've found a story about how black women voters are sick of hearing about their internal conflict over who to vote for. CNN ran a story about black women voters who must be so torn about whether to vote along racial or gender lines. The reaction was quick, with one CNN viewer hitting it right on the head.

"Duh, I'm a black woman and here I am at the voting booth. Duh, since I'm illiterate I'll pull down the lever for someone. Hm... Well, he black so I may vote for him... oh wait she a woman I may vote for her... What Ise gon' do? Oh lordy!"

I can't speak for a racially motivated vote, but Hillary Clinton's gender doesn't really matter to me. Yes, as a woman I'm happy to see a viable female candidate. But that doesn't mean she automatically has my vote. I'm still not sure who I want to have the Democratic nomination, but I'm going to decide who to vote for based on their stand on the issues, not by the candidate's genitalia or skin color.

Winter Whining

2008-01-20T12:08:00.000-05:00

I have long said that winter should be over after Christmas. No more snow, no more cold, an immediate start to the budding of leaves and the sun setting after 8 p.m. But since it doesn't work that way, I've got a bad case of the winter doldrums. I get up. I go to work. I go to the gym. I go home. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I'd love to go on vacation, but I've got no money. I know George Bush is allegedly going to send me a few hundred bucks, but I should pay off my soul-crushing credit card debt with it instead of flying to some tropical island for a weekend. Or buy a new laptop, since mine is struggling to process my keystrokes fast enough as I write. And I want to buy an XBox so I can buy Rock Band. I played it at a party last night and have determined I must have it. So if Congress could be so kind as to add another 0 on my rebate check, I'd be grateful.

All this has put me into hunker-down mode, trying to save my money. I don't go out much. I try to eat cheap at home. I'm plotting selling my eggs for some quick financial relief. Since I don't think I'm ever going to use them, somebody should be able to utilize my superior genetic material.

At least there's football today, and American Idol is back. I may be single and broke, but Tom Brady and Ryan Seacrest are going to help me through these trying times.

Bedlam at Market Basket

2008-01-13T20:25:00.000-05:00

I had no choice. After an afternoon of hunting for a window fan (my old one died and it's so hot in my apartment I sleep with the fan on me-- please direct all criticism to my landlord) and picking up A's new cat, I had to make one last errand: to pick up some food at Market Basket.

On an average Sunday, the Market Basket is insane. Even walking through the parking lot is taxing. Clerks run and try to complete the Sisyphean task of collecting carts as overflowing cars jockey for one of the few vacant spots. Huge families pile out of their rusty SUVs and grab a couple carts and slowly file into the store.

When there's a snowstorm on the way, however, it's a complete madhouse. Carts abandoned so shoppers can grab an item down a jammed aisle. Children stopping abruptly. Old women banged into without apology. During last month's nor'easter, I made the mistake of picking up too many items to use the express lane. After spending half an hour in line as two people in front of me loaded their completely full carts onto the belt, I knew better than to make that mistake again. I may not have everything I need for the week, but I had a delicious taco dinner tonight and have some veggies and whole wheat pasta for tomorrow.

Come and get me, Mother Nature. You can't frighten me more than the people at the Market Basket.

Late-Night Train Travel

2008-01-11T17:43:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, my friends and I went out to see Juno. (Cute movie—highly recommended.) Our show got out around 9, so we proceeded to hit the Intermission Tavern for some post-movie drinks. A's boyfriend got out of work around 10:30, but didn't end up at the bar until 11. After ordering some fries and another round, we realized the last train to Oak Grove would be coming by soon. We hastily paid our tab and went around the corner to the Chinatown stop.

It was around midnight when we got to the station, but we saw that the gate was still open. We walked downstairs and found no T employees around. After paying our fare, we saw some other people waiting around for a train.

We stood around in the cold train tunnel. A couple of T cops walked onto the platform, then walked away. A train went by on the opposite track. By the time 1:15 rolled around, we decided if a train didn't come in five minutes, we'd grab a cab.

Just then, a T official came into the station and told us we'd missed the last train. Naturally, we freaked out.

"We've been waiting here for nearly an hour!" my friend M spat at him.

"There's no sign upstairs that says what time the last train arrives," A pointed out.

"And some T cops were just here and didn't say anything," I said as we were herded up escalator to the street.

The T official was patient with us. He explained to us that the T doesn't have the money to staff both the Chinatown and Downtown Crossing stops that late, so he has to shutter the Downtown Crossing stop then drive to Chinatown and close that one up too.

I brought up the T cops who'd come by. "They don't care," the official said bitterly.

He did give us one piece of advice. When the last train gets to Downtown Crossing, it stands by for a little while. So if you think you've missed the last train out, head toward the more northern stops and you might still have a shot. I'm still not pleased that the T doesn't staff one of its sketchiest stops late at night, but I did learn that a cab to Wellington doesn't cost too much from downtown either.

Of Fingers and Neighbors

2008-01-04T15:51:00.000-05:00

Oh noes!

So the apartment I live in was damaged by a fire. Thankfully, it was before I moved in (this time). The owners of the building fixed the place up nicely, and in my tiny studio alone there are several fire detecting apparatus. When the fire alarm goes off in one apartment, it goes off in all the apartments in the large building.

I know this very well, because for the second time in a month my neighbor set off the fire detector in the wee hours of the morning by cooking bacon. While I certainly understand a love of fried cured meats in a morning meal, come on, dude. At least today he set it off at 7:15, nearly a full hour later than the time he set it off last month while I was in the shower, mid-hair-sudsing.

Bacon is equally delicious when cooked on paper towels in the microwave, and much less smoky. If you must pan-fry your meats, open a window and keep the smoke to a minimum. Please.

My Globe delivery guy kind of sucks. I think. I can't tell if some hoodlum is filching my paper off my stoop or if he's not stopping at my apartment, but at least once a week I go downstairs to find nary a newspaper in sight. It's infuriating because instead of having an idea of what's going on as I get to work, I have to grab a copy when I get to the office and slog through it once I'm here.

Today was a newspaperless day, so I put in my headphones and spaced out on my commute. As I rode the Green Line, I noticed a guy who was holding the pole had a gnarly fingernail. After I turned away, something occurred to me.

That guy's gnarly fingernail was on a second thumb.

Not wanting to stare but desperate to confirm what I saw, I turned my head back toward the man. Indeed, there was an additional thumb on his hand. It was a short thumb, kind of only like another of the top joint, and looked a lot like a tree branch. The man got off at the next stop, leaving me with the single most strange sighting I've ever had on the MBTA.

Belated Holiday Cheer

2007-12-25T19:57:00.000-05:00

Despite my best intentions, I didn't make it to ye olde blog to write up my typical holiday post until after the big daddy of holiday ends. But I hope you'll accept my slightly buzzed and very full tidings of comfort and joy. I know I've been horrible at writing here despite my promises to keep at it, but I do appreciate the five people who still check back here to see what I'm up to.

It was a good Christmas. As always, I went overboard on buying for my Mom and brother, but they seem really happy with their gifts. We got my Mom a GPS, which is helpful since she has no sense of direction and is therefore scared of driving to new places. I got my brother a cool hoodie. In a selfish bent, I got a teeny tiny HD TV for my teeny tiny apartment. I guess I'll have to splurge on actual cable now.

But the best gift I may have gotten this year was a hand-made bowl from my grandfather. It's made from a maple that was just beginning to decay, so it has this amazing marbling on it. I probably won't use it that much, but I'll put it right next to the sewing basket my grandmother made out of a gourd ("In an effort to domesticate you," she explained when I opened that a few years ago). As I watch my family age and wonder what it will be like when they're not around, I love to get these things they made for me, that will outlast the expensive television and sweaters.

That's enough sentimentality for now. I'm off to plan how I'm going to spend the money gifts. (Pay off my credit cards? Whaaa?!)

A very Merry Christmas to you all. And, since I may not get back here before, a very happy new year.

Nor'easters: Better Than Adderall?

2007-12-16T20:30:00.000-05:00

Those of you who've been reading Boston Daily (all of you, I hope) know I had tickets to see A Celtic Christmas Sojourn today. Unfortunately, God has smote me and decided to send every manner of precipitation to New England and my Mom couldn't make it up to see the show. Instead of slogging through the mess to see it alone, I hunkered down at home and ate the $50 I spent on the tickets.

Here is what I accomplished today by not leaving my house:

Spent a leisurely morning with coffee and my bagel, though my Sunday Globe was conspicuously absent. Guess my paperman didn't want to deal with the snow either.

Watched Mitt Romney on Meet the Press.

Baked chocolate cherry cookies.

Baked peanut butter cup cookies.

Made risotto.

Did all those dishes.

Loaded Arthur's annual Christmas CD to my iPod.

Paid my bills.

Scrubbed my kitchen sink.

Vacuumed.

Washed the floors.

Cleaned the bathtub and bathroom sink.

Remembered my PIN for the library's website, so I can reserve books online again.

Reserved a bunch of books.

Watched the Pats.

Emailed and chatted with friends.

Packed my bag for tomorrow's epically long day.

Now I'm watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Then I'll probably take a bath, read, and go to bed at a reasonable hour. What an exciting life I lead.

Gorging Myself on Thanks

2007-11-21T13:42:00.000-05:00

So it's officially the holiday season now, eh? A and I were cruising the aisles of Target last night, cooing like dorks over the cute wrapping paper and Christmas cards. With yesterday's snow, I'm giving myself a pass on the early holiday excitement. But I wanted to take some time to ruminate on what I'm thankful for this year.

My job. My job my job my job my job my job. My job. My awesome job.
The people I babysit for. Had they not taken me in, I would have moved home to Rhode Island after ditching the rat-infested basement studio.
My family.
My friends. Without them, I would have even less faith in humanity than I do now.
My apartment. I love it. I hope I don't have to leave until I'm able to pay for a place with an actual bedroom.
Pumpkin beer.
Hot coffee.
My Mom's health.
America's Next Top Model.
Gossip Girl. XOXO.
MIKE LOWELL!!
24-hour Christmas Story marathons.
Pizza.
My iPod.
Zipcar. (I can use it again!)
My Mom's mashed potatoes.
Free laundry all weekend.
The fact that, as broke as I am, I don't need to worry about where my next meal will come from.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday full of food and safe travels.

Question and Answer

2007-11-18T15:28:00.000-05:00

You should have to ride the T with your fans, sir.

Question: What's worse than your rush-hour commute on the T?

Answer: Riding a Green Line train full of Dane Cook fans. If I'd remembered he was playing the Garden last night, I would have taken the bus home from Brookline. Between them and the two college-aged hippies drinking gin out of Poland Springs bottles, I've pretty much decided I'm not having children.