You remind me of the babe...

Oh yeahhhhh I was at the Labyrinth sing & quote-a-long last night at the Coolidge Corner Theater. There were props and everything! And let me tell you, having a full theater sing along with you to "it's ohhhhnnly forever, not long aaaaaaat alllllllll" is really quite a thrill.

As my friend A-Banana said "Wow, that sure is some amount of make up he is wearing" (something like that anyway). But I don't care. David Bowie was my first real celebrity crush and I am still not over it yet.

Frankly, I may never get over it.

I would say that more than alcohol was involved.

From Boston.com:

Boat flies out of Maine pond, lands in trees
May 24, 2009

SHAPLEIGH, Maine—Authorities say someone from Massachusetts suffered life-threatening injuries when a boat flew out of a Maine pond and landed eight feet off the ground in some trees.

The Maine Warden Service says four people, all from Massachusetts, were aboard the boat in Square Pond in Shapleigh when it crashed around 1:30 a.m. Sunday. Two of them were injured.

Sgt. Tim Place says alcohol was probably involved.

I am no physicist but I would guess that something more considerable than just alcohol was definitely involved.

And in other, sicker, news I am secretly impressed that a fellow Masshole managed to wing a boat out of a lake and into a tree.

How to remove a day from your life.

6:18am: The phone rings.

Never.A.Good.Sign.

Me: ughshufnsl$9@*@&4?

Mom: Your grandfather fell and you need to take him to the hospital and I can't take him because I have a meeting at 8 and can you take him because he fell last night and now he can't feel his leg or something.

Me: Huh?

6:19am: My day fall completely off this dimension.

So here is the long version. Make some popcorn, get a beer.

Mom calls me, I call Grandpa, Sister calls me, I call Dad, Mom calls Sister, and I end up zipping over to Grandpa's apartment because as it turns out he did indeed fall and now cannot move off of his bed.

I am at his house by about 6:40am. The maintenance man lets me in and lo and behold Grandpa is in fact lying in his bed, wrapped in a sheet like a mummy.

Curious.

Our conversation goes a little like this:

"So uh Gramps, what happened here?"

"Welllllllll I was going to sit down to put in my eye drops and I lost my balance and ended up on the floor. And when the police came, the EMT's looked me over and well I figured I was ok because I was able to stand up and then they put me back in bed like this and said to call in the morning if I didn't feel good and now I can't feel my leg too much and I have to pee. Owwwww!"

*sigh*

I hope that there is no part of me that decides to tough out pain when I am 93.

Grandpa tells me that he does not want me to call 9-1-1 for an ambulance. He wants me to call his own doctor and ask him to send an ambulance over. This is a ridiculous idea to me, because Dr. JTK is going to just tell me to call 9-1-1 and then he is going to think "What kind of a sh*tty granddaughter waits to call 9-1-1 while dear old Grandpa lies about with a possibly smashed-up hip anyway?"

But there really isn't any point to argue with Grandpa so I page Dr. JTK and I am on the phone with him by 7am.

PS: I love Dr. JTK. Everyone loves him. He could charms the birds from the sky he is that kind of awesome.

Of course he tells me to call the ambulance. AND I know what HE'S thinking. (see above)

The ambulance comes and by 8am or so we are on our way to the hospital. I ride in the back with Grandpa and Benny. I could, for lots of reasons, never be a paramedic but mainly because I get horribly carsick and would barf all over the patients.

Also for the record we totally lucked out today as far as medical professionals go.

Benny and Stan take us over to the hospital. They were great, very calming and reassuring, and just really restored my faith in people who do their job well for such little recognition.

Oh but importantly, let me just say that once we arrived at the Emergency Room the space-time continuum collapsed on me completely. I know that x-rays were taken and that tests were administered and that I sent about 700 text messages and talked to about 47 different staff and other traumas swirled in and out, but really from about 8:30am until about 2:45pm when my sister arrived, I have no clue how the time passed.

But it was definitely not in a blur because I can tell you all the weird little details, like how I saw evidence of two very bloody traumas come in and out - presumably out to operating rooms. And how when Grandpa is asked if can feed himself, he tells the WHOLE story of how one of my aunts comes up periodically and fills his freezer with homemade chicken pot pies, not just yeah he feeds himself. And that Melissa, the fantastic nurse who tended to Grandpa, had no problem giving him half an Oxycodone for the pain because even though he wanted to "tough it out" she was like "please, spare me". And that also my Sister and I took goofy photos of Grandpa and us in dumbass poses, much to our hysterical amusement.

When I finally looked at the clock, Sister and I were sitting in the Observation area, where they move you before moving you on, and it was 4pm.

How the f*ck did that happen? One minute I am in my comfy bed, minding my own business, and the next I am sitting in the Observation area wait for the transport to the rehab center.

Whoa!

I shoulda gotten the other half of that Oxy is what.

Oh and as it turns out, THANKFULLY, Grandpa did not break anything. Well, he is sure he broke his skinny ol'behind, but I say he was born with that crack in it...

We finally get to the rehab center. He looks like crap. I look like crap. We both sort of feel like crap, but he is on that Oxy high so I win the feel like crap contest.

But since he is the patient he gets cleaned up and tucked in by nurse Diane who we both now love completely because she is unbelievably nice and no bullsh*t. Not only that, but Gramps gets dinner delivered to his bed - a chicken sandwich, sherbert, puddings (two!), nasty soup, and some sort of protein in a can. I steal the peanut butter & jelly sandwich he doesn't want because frankly neither of us has eaten much and we are both famished.

By 7:45 I am DONE. But first Sister comes to get me and we both go back to Grandpa's apartment to get him some clothing and shoes and a book, oh and his Walkman. Because it turns out he can't do his physical therapy nekkid and shoeless. Rules, rules, rules! Geez, time to break a few if you ask me. We then schlepp the bag BACK to rehab before finally saying an official goodbye, so long sucka, to Gramps.

At this point I have this peculiar zombie like feeling and a certain sneaking feeling that this day did not in fact happen. Totally bizarro. Hospital-land time and regular-land time don't seem to be in sync at all. It was like being in a Seinfeld episode. I was up, I did stuff, things occurred, people talked, BUT NOTHING REALLY HAPPENED.

Weird!

I finally rolled in at 9pm and stole my housemates last Vanilla Coke Zero. I know she won't mind, but since this day didn't really even happen for me, maybe she'll never even know!



Oh and I would like to thank the following people for being so awesome and not letting this day suck: EMT's Benny and Stan, BWH nurse Melissa, Dr.'s Perkins, Wall, Katz, & Tan, Cataldo transport, SRH nurses Jamie and Diana, and mostly my Sister who knows EXACTLY what I mean when I say "ok, who flipped the turtle?", and Mom and Dad and Betsy. And also Anna and Brandon for being like "don't worry about it, we got it" because they totally do.

Locally made VW

I got this from the Evil Twin who was stuck behind them in traffic.

Maybe they bought it secondhand from their local dealer?

I don't know what it is, but I don't like bumperstickers anyway. They are rarely funny after the first laugh, and anyway most of the time they are sanctimonious bits of crap. Or worse, they are taped on. People who tape bumperstickers to their bumper with tape ought to have their car taken away from them for two weeks.

But I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt that the above referenced vehicle was purchased secondhand. At least it wasn't a Prius.

Happy Early Mother's Day

Mom, if you are reading this, STOP reading right now. There is nothing here that you need to read.


Ok, so for Mother's Day I was hemming and hawing about what to get my mom. The woman has everything she needs in life and moah. And even though she loves to eat, there is no point to take her out because her favorite meal is homemade, at home, with the people she loves around her.

Hmmm, ok, she has everything and likes food and is generous and wants everyone to be happy.... what would be THE perfect gift?

A Kiva micro loan natch!

Yep, for $25 I made a micro loan to a woman named Ingrid who lives in South America on my mom's behalf. Ingrid has a restaurant and my Mom works for a restaurant, so I figured it was fate. Ingrid requested a loan from Kiva in order to purchase new tables, chair, and equipment to update her restaurant and had already paid back one Kiva loan to start her restaurant, plus she had a nice photo with a decent write-up.

Not only that, but Ingrid plans to repay the loan within the next 11 months, just in time for Mothers Day 2o10! The gift that keeps on coming back to be given again! Sweet!

If you are stuck on what to give YOUR mom this year, I highly recommend a micro-loan from Kiva. And be sure to pick the loan that gets repaid in time for next year's regifting. Er, I mean re-lending!

(Please note that I am not a financial planner of any kind whatsoever, and that as with any financial lending, risk is involved. So read the dang fine print please!)

Wow, times ARE tough.

Because apparently this recession isn't just financial.

I heard three different radio ads this afternoon for supplements that are supposed to make dicks bigger. By the third one I was just plain laughing out loud. From the sounds of it there are thousands of teeny weenys out there clamouring for these supplements. So much so that they are rushing these supplements out the door to cover millions of advance orders. This is the claim anyway from the same guy who claimed that the reason he developed this amazing product was because he had lived with four women in college and all they ever talked about was how size matters.

Yeah, right, that's what women sit around talking about. Massive ginormous penises.

In pornos maybe.


Hmmmm although.... if they invent a supplement that could get a weiner to do laundry or windows, I would totally invest in that.

If you can't say anything nice, then don't.

I don't want to talk about it but let me just say that the Commonwealth of Massachusetts needs to make sure that the highway engineers that they hire must be born and raised in Massachusetts, and like at least 2nd generation Masshole at that.

Engineers who are not from here think that somehow Mass drivers are going to magically change if given the chance to drive on an improved design.

That is not the case.

Once a Masshole, always a Masshole. Can't be helped.

Perfect example is the on-ramp to the Expressway at Neponset. A total clusterf*ck no matter when you try to get on it because somehow the lane is slightly wider than a single car.

Theoretically this should allow for a smooth, zipper-like, entry onto the highway. But no, in Massachusetts this is just enough of an opening for the Masshole driver to scoot around the car in front. Basically turning the lane into two lanes that are then trying to merge into one lane. Which makes for a massive clusterf*ck knot of traffic that usually backs up to the Granite Ave exit, sometimes down to practically East Milton Square even.

It's like this at the Mass Ave entrance to the Expressway also.

I get it that highway designers and engineers want to credit the drivers of Massachusetts with the abilty to evolve and improve on their driving skills, but it won't happen. Massholes never change, they just graduate to Lincoln Town Cars.

But, like I said, I don't want to talk about it.

And the crowd goes wild.....

Yesterday I am putt-putt-puttering around in my backyard, illuminating all around me with the pale glow of fish-belly whiteness when I hear a pretty decent "whrrrrroooooooooaaarrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhh".

Mind you I live near two ballparks: Fenway Pahk and Fenway Pahk Junior (aka Jim Rice Field). I quite honestly thought that the "whrrrrroooooooooaaarrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhhh" was coming from Fenway Pahk Jr.

Yep, I thought THAT kind of noise was coming from a Little League game. Is it even Little League season? Anyway, that is the noise of a sh*tload of Sawx fans going nuts and I could hear it from over here.

I swear to spirit that this year I am going to learn to understand baseball. Which might in turn get me to like baseball. I have gone to two games in my life - once when I was 17 with my Dad to watch the Sox lose to the Milwaukee Brewers, and once with friend where I promptly got tanked and still have very little recollection of the game. It could have been rained out for all I know.

But I sort of feel like having some working knowledge of baseball would be a good thing. It would give me something to talk about with 87% of the Boston population from April to October, possibly through November.

Wait, what does the infield fly rule mean again? Oh yeah, this is going to be a LONG summer.

Adventures in tailoring

I went and dropped off two pairs of pants to be hemmed and one skirt that needed a zipper replaced.

Sounds pretty routine right? Hahahah! Have we met? Nothing in my life is ever routine.

Let me tell you about going to the tailor.

So my dear friend T-ster calls me up and says:
"heywhachoodoinletsgetdinneranddoyouhaveanythingyouneedtogettailored?becauseIamgoingtoseethiswomanwhoisatailorandIgother namefromafriendandsheisreallygoodandcheap.seeyouinhalfanhour."

T-ster runs about 17 times faster than the normal human being, so that is how most of our conversations typically run. And usually I don't get the whole story over the phone, so I wasn't too sure of exactly what we were going to really be doing or where exactly we were going, but I knew enough to get my clothes together that needed hemming or mending, and I knew we were going to eat something.

Which frankly is all I needed to know really and half an hour later we were off.

Turns out that T-ster found out about this tailor from the friend of a friend. We were directed to a three decker on a side street outside of Uphams Corner. The front door was propped open and the doorbell, hard to find, was marked with about fourteen names. T-ster skipped all those formalities and, as instructed by the friend of his friend, went straight to a third floor apartment where a very friendly Vietnamese woman sorted out our various tailoring needs.

I swear to infinite spirit that I felt like I was going on a drug buy. It had the same elements of uncertainty and thrill. I mean really, who wouldn't want to find a really great, inexpensive, tailor?

Oh yeah, she spoke only Vietnamese, so T-ster did all the talking. Hopefully he didn't tell her to take my pants all the way up, because I look like a bozo in high-waders. All I know is that for twelve bucks I am getting all my tailoring needs taken care of.

Then we went for dinner at Pho So 1 in Fields Corner. I highly recommend the grilled shrimp with steamed rice and the fresh nem spring rolls. I would also like to give a special mention (shoutout? I guess that's what the kids call it these days...) to the two women working at Pho So 1. One woman in particular is probably the friendliest, pleasantest person in food service. Always laughing about something and totally enthusiastic about everything whenever I see her - that sort of thing is infectious, and I left feeling positively light hearted.

All around a pretty good night.

Another year, another chance to NOT run the marathon.

OMFG I will never get the marathoner mentality.

Never, never, never. Ropey looking people in too short, too flimsy shorts wandering around the old town of the Bean with triangular swag bags, three days of race coverage on the nightly news, and those people who plan marathon watching parties.

Let me state again for the record: I WILL NEVER RUN A MARATHON.

This may also have something to do with seeing people piss and poop themselves rather than add minutes to their time.

I know a person who told me he runs the marathon every year. He doesn't train or anything. He doesn't even wear appropriate running clothes, he just goes and runs it. Apparently it takes him between 5 - 6 hours to finish and then he just walks home after. At first I thought he was bullcrapping me, but he has the photos and also his wife told me the same thing. He doesn't even bother getting a number. Ugh. I can't even run to the bus without wanting to vomit.

And believe me, I've tried to learn to love running, but you know what? Some people are just not the runner type. Whenever I try running I am almost immediately out of breath, my shins spontaneously combust, and I have the urge to punch someone in the nose. So probably it is better for everyone in general that I stay far away from the whole runner business.

Oh and PS: a Kenyan will win the marathon. Just in case you didn't already know.

Hey! You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?

There are lots of reasons I have fallen on my face with this blog, but it's slowly coming back to me. Here is a list of a few of those reasons, and thank you for your patience.

1. This winter has been too long. That is the last time I will say it. Unless of course we get one.more.snowstorm. at which point I am moving to Key West.

2. I went to France and it was amazing. I want to go back. Oh and I was jetlagged for a WEEK! Encroyable! I've never had jetlag like that before.

3. Last week a defendant was up for probation surrender and rather than take his chances with the judge he bolted from the courtroom and jumped from the second floor landing to the first floor, at least a 15 foot drop. Suffice it to say there was a law-enforcement pigpile on him and boy was he ever pissed.

4. That same day a different guy came into the court with his cellphone and when the guard said "No cellphones" the guy ran INTO the courthouse bathroom. Dumb. Another pigpile on that guy. And watching them try to get him out of the elevator and over to lockup was like watching a couple of lobsters wrestle an octopus. That guy was all over the place. I really think he had eight limbs rather than the standard four.

5. I went out into my back yard to see what was starting to come up (mint, frickin' EVERYWHERE) and I found a dead parakeet. Boo :^(

6. Did I mention the jetlag?

7. A coworker was startled to find another coworkers condom in a desk drawer. Not a private locked desk drawer mind you, a desk drawer that usually contains more run of the mill office supplies. No, it wasn't used, and yes, she gave it back to him. And now I privately refer to him as the Condommint

8. I had to print up a sign for the ladies room to ask that people flush twice when they go poop. True story: I once went into a stall and there at the bottom of the bowl was a little turd with a nut in the center, like an eyeball staring up at me. Funny and freaky. I haven't used that stall since. If it's brown, flush it down - TWICE!

9. It would seem that I am now on the worlds most expensive baby stopper that is not covered by insurance. I told my mother that for that price they should give me a gift certificate for a gigolo. She thought it was a riot and I am still sort of weirded out that I told my mom that. Whoops! It's official. Now everyone knows I am not getting any. *sigh*

10. I've been working and working so by the time I get home, I's tired and want to go to bed. And being tired sort of sucks the fun right out of me.

So there you are. But I will be back. I can just feel it.

J'arrive!

This is going to be a short post for two reasons.

One, the keyboard here in France is different. The 'Q' is where le 'A' should be for starters. And quite frankly the keyboard goes down from there for me.

Two. I am using a computer in what can only be described as a daycare. It's supposed to be a library in the town hall but possible there is some sort of vacation in the school system. And les enfants are more than a little curious about the big American in their midst.

So more later I think because I am now going to teach les petites about sauce Americain (ketchup) and about le Big Gulp.

Um.

I have writers block.

And in two hours I will be flying over to France. Which should help break it. Eh, you know those French people, always getting up to kooky stuff.

Ye good olde days.

There is definitely not enough Scotch or Sirloin in my life.

Do you have more laid off friends than employed ones?

I feel like that is slowing becoming true.

In fact this whole weird economy seems like a very long car crash in a very drawn out slow motion sequence. The car is crashed, but we're all being blown forward into the wreck in excruciating slo-mo.

Hopefully it's a fendah-bendah. But I don't recall that I ever knew so many of my friends who were laid off at the same time.

You know you are getting old when...

Ok, well really I am not getting old. I look 27 and think 17. The word "poop" still makes me laugh and for the most part so does farting.

However I can mark the passing of time with certain universal milestones. For example I recover less quickly from a night out, not that I can't stay out late, but face it - I am exhausted by midnight. And now my body wants to get up early no matter what time I go to sleep, so there is that conflict.

I am also at that point where I am starting to get cynical about "youth today", because face it - they never walked to school, in the snow, five miles each way, all uphill.

The biggest "ah HA, uh oh, oh no!" moment however is when it finally dawned on my that I am losing my sweet tooth. Coming from a person who used to put sugar on Frosted Flakes, this is saying a lot.

It hit me today when I stopped at Starbucks on my way home from Russos. I got a foamy coffee and a sugary doughnut. And as I took a chunk of the doughnut I thought "ugh, too sweet". At which point I nearly crashed my car to the river.

Too sweet.

Might as well switch from Underoos to Depends.

*sigh*

Fun times with music

Friday night I went to the Los Campesinos show at the Paradise. A friend asked me if I wanted to go and since I usually say 'no' to everything, I decided to start saying 'yes' more often.

Which seems to be working out well for me these days.

Anyway, I'd never heard or listened to Los Campesinos before, other than if they were played on WERS. But let me just say, Los Campesinos put on an AMAZING show. I will admit that I felt totally alien in a crowd that was made up of mostly cooky-cutter hipster lads with pouffed/shaggy hair, sideburns, scraggly beards, thin sweaters, and i-phones and hipster chickys in stripey tights, kiddie barrettes, thin sweaters, and i-phones. And I will further admit that during the soundcheck I was a little unnerved by the sight of the zylophone looking thingys.

However, once the music started... forget it. I was hooked.

The sound is hard for me to describe because I am completely unmusical. The best I can do is say that it was raucous, and delicate, and drummy, and melodious, and loud as all get out. It was a wall of noise that you could hear and understand. Which I guess is hard to explain - it's just that sometimes shows are just LOUD, you can't hear any separate sounds, just very loud noise and you leave with your ears ringing to sh*t for two days. This was loud but articulate and it was intelligent and I could still hear afterwards.

Most of the lyrics seems to be quite depressing but wrapped up in pretty paper. Except for the song below. Let me just say that this song is way, WAY, better live - but the video is very cool.

If you get a chance to see them live, I highly recommend it. And for the love of pete, leave the i-phone in your darn pocket.

Ugh. Enough with the graffarti.

Look, this whole business with Frank Shepard Fairey is ridiculous. The media circus that swarmed over Roxbury District Court was nearly larger than what we usually see even for murder arraignments. And a bunch of self-righteous boobs blathering on about the "timing" and questioning the "motive" behind the warrant make me laugh.

Stupid.

I bet a stack of flapjacks that the Artist Formerly Known as Frank dropped his own dime on his own bad self. Prior to his arrest on Friday, his show at the ICA was more of a "who? oh yeah that guy" shindig. But now it is a media hoopla. And who does that benefit exactly? I mean, Mr. Fairey is no Robert Mapplethorpe, so why would anyone even care unless he wanted them too. And anyway, he could have done what hundreds of other folks with default warrants do, send your lawyer over to court and arrange for a next court date to clear it up. That's what lawyers are for, that's how the system works.

Furthermore, at the end of the day, Mr. Fairey defaced property that did not belong to him without permission. Which is a no-no, according to the law. He is no more exempt from it as the kid who put this on my house is:

Which, by the way, I reported to the BPD. With photos. Because you just never know. It's not art to me.

Art is relative, and similar to pornography in that you "know it when you see it". And everyone's taste is different. One person's graffiti, is another person's graffarti.

A simple test. Pick one photo below and imagine someone you don't know and will likely never meet, spray painting it across your front door:













And yeah, you HAVE to pick one. Because part of what graffiti is is living with someone else's choice of art.

Have fun and remember to give this much of a crap about the criminal system when more serious issue arise.

I hate this newfangly digital tv business. But I like it a little... sometimes.

No, I hate it.

The f*cking signal keeps going weak and so the picture scrambles. Which I could deal with, but what is totally annoying is that the sound also breaks up. At least with my old rabbit ears the picture might get snowy, but the sound was still ok.

Sorry, but a horribly stuttering tv is probably going to be the thing that finally turns me off tv completely. Because there is nothing more annoying to me than hearing every third or fourth word. If you can't imagine what it is like, try having someone flick the mute button on and off randomly. For full effect occasionally turn the tv off randomly as well, which is what it is like when the signal goes weak.

Oh, and I no longer get channel 38 (WSBK), but I do get four channels of WGBH 44. Which would be great, only without the stutter.

I get it that there are still glitches in the system, but really I would give back those four channels of WGBH to get the rabbit ears again. And I refuse to get cable again.

So I guess my long relationship with the telly is coming to an end.
Which is probably a good thing.

Ugh. I want my two hours back.

I decided to go do some laundry tonight over in Dorchester. I was hoping to also get a nice big bowl of pho while I was at it, but guess what?

It's the Asian New Year.

Every single Vietnamese pho place was closed for the holiday. So that sort of blew. But Happy New Year!

The second bummer of the night was that almost every TV at the laundromat were tuned to The Bachelor. I frickin' CANNOT stand that show.

All these perfectly nice women getting up to the most absurd shenanigans to get the attentions of this guy - the Bachelor - who frankly seems to be a major tool with VERY white teeth. And then at the end he has to bump a few of them off the show. But not before making them all sing to him, and make out with him, and then beg him to keep them on the show. Blech.

Ugh. Seriously. There is something about that show that really weirds me out.

Click on the images to make them warmer. I mean larger.

It is warm somewhere. And at some point it will be warm here too.

I promise.

Most annoying thing I heard today

Well, not really, but close. I hear a TON of annoying things in a day and this was what stuck.

It was: "I need you to do me a favor."

In my mind, one is supposed to request a favor. As in: "Can you please do me a favor?" Not tell someone they have to do something to accommodate a need.

It came out of the mouth of someone who acts smarter than they are, and it is impossible to tell this person anything because they think they know everything anyway. Which may also explain the annoyance.

Before you think that I am a complete phrasing madwoman, let me just point out that I am very good at saying things like "the proof is in the pudding" and "having your cake and eating it too".

Of course the proof isn't IN the pudding, but rather the proof is in the eating of said pudding. And really what people want is to eat their cake and then still have it for later.

All this just to say that you shouldn't tell people to do you favors. You ought to be asking. And I swear I am not this retentive about things in general. But really at the end of the day, our language is all we've got, so we ought to use it correctly.

I know that I am not the only one here...

Do those Iceland Health radio ads creep you out too? Creep-ola AND unbelievably irritating.

Basically the kindly folk of Iceland are soooo concerned about the health of us Americans that they are giving away bottles of fish pills. And to do so they are flooding the airways with radio ads that sound like Seven of Nine's younger sister, Twelve of Fourteen, talking - and struggling mightily with the words. Like a borg. Totally creepy.

Seemingly if you call an 800 number, or go online, you can get your free sample. I didn't see it on the website, but then again I didn't really look all that hard.

My theory is that the prime minister of Iceland is still pissed at his European "friends" for not bailing out his country financially, and now he is trying to win over the US. Or maybe he just wants to annoy the crap out of us until we send him a bailout package.

Well, I doubt if we'll assimilate into the collective that readily. Unless those pills really do counteract the effects of eating a cheeseburger.

Hooray for the little things in life.

There is nothing like a grim and freezing January to drive a person inside! But there are a few things about being indoors that I like, so I try to do those few things as much as possible.

One thing is taking a bath. Face it, it is too cold to go hanging about outside, so you find yourself sitting around inside... and well you might as well sit around in a hot bath, in a steamy bathroom, with a nice drink and a very trashy read. I recommend a tropical bubble bath like the Body Shop's Satsuma Foaming Bath, or the Sweet Coconut Milk High Foaming Bubble Bath from philosophy. A Dark & Stormy goes well with a bath, but a splash of Buffalo Trace in ginger ale is equally ideal. Any glossy publication from the drugstore will do, but be sure to remove those pesky inserts. If you are more bookish, I highly recommend any romance written by Jilly Cooper - overblown romantic cotton candy for the brain, but English and filled with watered silks and Wellies. For the music, well right now I am back to Audrey Ryan and Gretel because I love their music and plus they've gotten me through the gray months in the past. But you have to find music that makes you happy for this plan to work. Oh and wear sunglasses. I swear this is what makes ALL the difference!

Another thing I love is going to the gym in the evening. Since the days are so short it's going to be dark no matter when I get out of work and anyway the gym where I go is sort of full from about 5 to 7. I was trying to go early in the morning, but I just cannot do it in the cold AND dark. Brrrrrrrrrrrr. So I go at around 8/8:30pm during the week and it is great. The few people there at that hour seem friendlier than the early morning grouches. I know I am. So then I get nice and warmed up, come home, have a quick hot shower, and hop into bed by ten. Not only am I finally totally defrosted, but this plan forces me into getting a full night of sleep which is something I am pretty lousy about.

And finally cooking and listening to music. You can read about my cooking adventures and eating travels over at Calamity Shazaam. But the music part is the key component. In the warmer, outdoors, months I don't entirely feel comfortable wearing earphones because, well, I just don't. Furthmore I find that I tend to listen to the same thing over and over and over again when half my time is spent out of the house. Which means that when I am cooped up in the house I actually listen to the music and therefore need more variety. The best time for me to listen through the dusty recesses of my music collection is when I am cooking and sort of trapped at the stove or sink with dripping utentsils and boiling pans. I cook better to music, although occasionally this backfires, like it did when I listened to too much Bob Seger, which coincided with a black treacle explosion.

I know that there are other fun things to do indoors when it is digustingly cold outside, but that is a post for another day.

Besides my drink and bath are calling.

I have no excuse

I have not been exercising my blogging muscle and as a result Shamrag is starting to atrophy.

Sad but true.

I am working on it, but trying to find funny in January when it is 7 degrees and slippery out is, well, trying.

All I want to do instead of write (or anything else for that matter) is burrow under the blankets with a package of Ring Dings and a bottle of Buffalo Trace.

Which so far has been a perfectly lovely substitute for doing pretty much anything else.

When the snow squalls.

Last night I went over to Kimmaaaaaaayyyyy's house for spaghetti and crafts. She knitted, I crocheted, and we talked for ages.

On the drive back home it snow squalled. Nothing severe. It was puffy snow that blew about: sometimes in blasts, sometimes in swirls, sometimes slowly and in circles. It blew upwards, and downwards, and lashed across the road in long trails. It filled up all the air with fat white flakes. It was light and blowy and lovely to be in.

It stirred up a long forgotten childhood delight in the snowfall. I drove around for a bit, just delighting in the drifty, blowy, swirly, snow squall.

New Years Day Loveliness

I am supposed to be cleaning house. But it is New Years Day and as you are likely hungover, here is a little visual loveliness to take the edge off.



I am not entirely sure that I've ever stopped wanting a dress decorated with ostrich feathers...

The last day of the year.

You know, for some reason I felt like 2000-and-8 was going to be a better year than it turned out to actually be.

And above is the image that sums it all up for me. Chicken butt.

It has been a chicken butt kind of a year. It started off well enough for most I think*, but then chicken butt happened and everything went south. Not a wholly offensive year, with the occasional good egg event thrown in to keep us all from hurling ourselves off the cliff.

I suppose I am not alone in saying goodbye and good riddance to 2008.

And I am not thinking that I am going to wake up tomorrow and magically everything will be different, like in Sixteen Candles when Molly Ringwald's character thinks she is going to wake up on her birthday to newly grown boobs and a gift-wrapped car in the driveway.

No, I am pretty positive that tomorrow is going to be about the same. But it's just that it is easier to be more optimistic on the brand new day of the brand new year.

Chicken butt! Hopefully Oh-Nine will bring everyone a golden egg. Including YOU!


*I also started off '08 on a good note, seeing a really terrific guy who sadly would later prove to have a two-timin' sonofagun issue. Furthermore, I would just like to point out that in September, when I found out about that little hiccup in our relationship, the national and global financial markets collapsed. So yes, everything you've ever heard about a woman scorned is in fact true.

My poor temporary neighbors

Ok well after listening to my temporary neighbors (turns out the Boy and the Girl are visiting through New Year) fight last night, I am returning the favor today by making them listen to my bipolar music mix.

Not intentionally mind you.

It's just that recently there has been a weird electromagnetic issue in my area and now it affecting my sound system. Usually I just plug in my little MP3 thingy and turn the player on. There is a volume dial and you simply twist the dial for various levels of sound.

However something happened and now I have two settings: shhh-whisper and REALLYF*CKINGLOUDQUICKTURNITDOWN!

Which always startles me. I am trying to wrap Christmas presents (and yes, before you ask, I did get you something. A pony. I hope you like it.) and I am listening to Thin Lizzy and Pilooski and CSN&Y and Kenny Chesney and Bon Iver and it's going a little something like this:

"dancing in the moonlight, it's got me in its spotlight, it's alright, it's alright, this moonlight..."

It's unnerving. I probably should turn it off while I am cutting up wrapping paper before I cut off my finger or something.

Do YOU know how your medical care is decided?

I am not a great big fan of health insurance. I think it is basically a scam. But at least I have employer subsidized health insurance, and for that I am pretty grateful. I would really resent having to pay it entirely out of pocket.

Years ago I lived and worked in Ireland and I have a very vague memory of earning points towards health care, if you paid taxes you got health care - something like that. The few times I had to go see a doctor (or GP as they are called over there) I seem to remember they decided my payment that way. I dunno, it could have been sliding scale maybe. Eh, I could be imagining it.

However, I still think that forcing people to buy health insurance is a bad idea. It's insurance, not health care. You can pay for health insurance and still not be able to afford health care. And here in Massachusetts if you don't get health insurance, you'll be fined per uninsured month. And the fines aren't cheap.

Univeral health insurance is a misguided plan. And every single person who tells me that it is GREAT that EVERYONE now has access to HEALTH CARE is someone who a) doesn't pay full price because they either are covered through work or by a spouse, and b) doesn't get the difference between health CARE and health INSURANCE.

I've gone through uninsured times and I used to go to the community health center. Because I made a little too much money for free care, I paid on a sliding scale, usually between $30 and $50 a visit. Luckily I am a pretty healthy person. However now you can't even do that anymore. The only option to any uninsured is to go to the emergency room. If you want to test this theory out, call up the Joseph Smith Health Center in Brighton and ask them if they will see you even though you haven't got insurance. I give this example because when I was most recently without health insurance I had a terrible sore throat and called them up to see if I could go be seen by a doctor there. They said no, not without insurance and that without insurance the only place to be treated was the emergency room. Great.

The other draw back of being uninsured is that the prescriptions would kill me. An inhaler for asthma would run me $70 bucks. A pack of baby stoppers would run me $30. Because when you pay $7 or $10 for a prescription with insurance, that is the insurers negotiated cost. Not the street cost. It's a fricking racket.

And I think that things are going to get worse. The Globe is running a health care spotlight. Kind a tedious read, but worth it. It's a frightening thought to consider that one day just one or two insurance companies could run all the hospitals. That would suck if you were considered to be a high-risk because cancer runs in the family, or maybe you have multiple sclerosis. Or diabetes. I wonder what your premiums would be like then? And I also wonder, how will people start to feel if employers start dropping the health care benefit? It's a benefit after all, not a right.

As for me I am still lucky as far as my health goes. Knock on wood.

I am a listener. Perhaps not much of a carer, but I'll listen.

And then I will write about it.

Today I had the opportunity to hear a conversation between two of my neighbors. Actually, I don't think they are my neighbors. I think they are visiting my neighbors.

At any rate no one told them about the paper-thin brick walls.

Turns out the Boy was looking at another Girl last night while Boy and Girl were out on the town.

Girl called Boy an "asswad". As in: "WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASSWAD ALL THE TIME FOR F*CK'S SAKE!!"

Which at first listen doesn't sound so terrible. But then the more I thought about it, the more I decided that what I DO NOT ever want to be is to be compared to something that wads up in the ass.

Blech.

Baby it's COLD outside. And wet. Blech!

La Maman and I decided to brave the elements and walk over to Copley Place and find a few last minute gifts. Now I am home. My toes are nearly fully defrosted and I am about to make spaghetti with meatballs.

It was cold and wet and pretty quiet out there. For what it's worth the only packed shop was Williams-Sonoma. Read into that what you will.




Empty mall. Dangerous (but shiny! and pretty!) ornaments.







Oh and since when has there been so many sparrows flitting about inside Copley Place Mall?

Click on an image to make it BIGGER.

WTF kind of snow is this anyway?!

First of all I really thought we were going to get more snow than this. I mean, for all the hype I thought it was going to be Blizzard of '78 all over again.

However I will just say that I think this snow is radioactive or something because the electronical crapola in my house is running weirdly. Let me explain.

Around 1 this afternoon I get a text from my sister asking me where I am. Seemingly she tried calling me a bunch of times and the phone would just ring and ring. So I called the cellphone provider and they couldn't figure it out either. I can make calls, but I can't get them and the callers can only get to my voicemail if they listen to about 20 seconds of dead air. Even then I don't get the voicemail unless I randomly call my mailbox.

Weird. But at least I have my land line. Which has been acting weirdly too. It will ring and when I answer it the person on the other end will wonder why I am calling them. And I am like "but you called me! I swear!".

The wireless internet is working intermittently and when I play music through my computer it skips (or hangs) constantly even though I am now using Winamp and it was working perfectly until today. I switched to my MP3 player and even that is acting up now.

It's weird. I really think that the snow is to blame. It probably really is radioactive.

Or something.

About music

I once read an interview with Wayne Coyne in the New York Times where he said he was "looking forward to the day when music is a liquid they pour into your head".

Dood, I can totally relate.

Music scratches the itch on my cerebral coretex and makes me happy.

Right now though I am listening to my music via Windows Media Player and it is making me mental.

The music is constantly "hanging" which is probably THE MOST ANNOYING THING EVER after all the other annoying crap in the world. Especially if you like to sing along. It's like the computer keeps stopping to think.

Eh. Whatever. At least it's a step up from a Victrola. You know, like from the days of yore.

Hidden in plain sight

Isn't that how it's supposed to work:


The TARDIS in Boston.


(Forgive my crayon-like approach. The closest thing I have to a graphic design program on my computer is Microsoft Paint. Eh, you do what you can.)

First Snow of December

Kind of hard to tell from these photos. But I am pretty excited.

I think that even when I am 97 I will get excited about the possibility of a snow day.

Basic Tetiquette

Messenger bagged masses of the public transit system, please note: just because your bulky-ass bag is slung around on your backside does NOT mean you are not responsible for it.

(This pretty much goes for any bulky bagged rider of the MBTA, so take heed!)

I am tired of getting sucker punched by some dope, usually on the phone, totally oblivious to the 20lb wrecking ball they're slinging around out the back. Out of sight out of mind does not apply in this scenario.

The other day I was sitting next to a young woman who was in the aisle seat. First she got clocked under the chin by a dopey rider swinging an oversized tote under her arm. She then got a thwack on the back of the head from the same dopey rider who wanted to shift the bag to the other shoulder.

And the bag swinger knew she bonked the seated passenger because she then told her to "ooh, mind!" as if her massive tote was its own entity for which she wasn't responsible.

Seriously. WTF is wrong with people sometimes. There are millions of little annoying things about the T (people not moving INTO the bus/subway car, T drivers who abruptly smash the brake, riders who need to take up one whole seat for their bag) but for some reason it was the bag swingers who got me this week.

Phew! I just had to say that.

Pattycake, Pattycake, Bake me a cake.... or a cookie....

Do you know how to turn on your oven?

Yes? Great!

Now go over to Calamity Shazaam in the Kitchen and sign up for Operation Baking GALS Round Five with Team Calamity Shazaam.

Thank you!!!!

WTFF - What The F*ck Friday.

I sat out the shopping frenzy that has come to dominate the day after Thanksgiving, as I pretty much always do.

Apparently I, along with a few other people, were the only ones who did.

You know what? That sh*t is INSANE. I was reading about the shopping insanity out there today and all I can say is that I hope never to be a part of that. Just reading about it gave me the shivers.

It was so out of control that an employee at WalMart was trampled to death. Trampled to death by deranged shoppers who couldn't wait to charge up a storm. Unbelievable.

And from all accounts, folks are going crazy to buy flat screen tvs. So I guess this depressions breadline is going to be a flat screen tv line.

What a difference an editor makes.

From Boston.com:


From The New York Times:


Don't get me wrong, I think that what happened to Haleigh Poutre is horrific. However I just think that terrorist attacks in India are more relevant.

Oh well. The Boston Globe is pretty biased when it comes to which events they turn into a media circus. So I suppose that if these attacks had happened in a more culturally similar country, the front page of Boston.com would look more like the front page of NYTimes.com.

My heart goes out to all the people in India, and around the world, who are directly affected by this event. Terrorists suck. Acts of terror that tear apart the tissues of society take ages to repair, and then even then never really heal. Because it is really hard to forget something like that.

Which makes me even more thankful this year for the things I hold most important in my life.

I just have to say...

To the person who screwed over my sister, let me just remind you that karma is a bitch.

I understand that you have a complicated relationship with your father, that every boyfriend you've had in the past few years has rightly decided that you are a nutter and dumped your sorry ass/called the police on you, and that you've had difficulty keeping the past three jobs - I get it that you have "issues". However that did not give you a free pass to f*ck over my sister.

You stink. You stink like a bag of piss.

The right thing to do would have been to tell her that you were working with someone else and to take her to a nice dinner and say thank you for your help.

But you did the wrong thing. Which frankly doesn't surprise anyone. Because you seem to excel at doing the wrong thing every single time.

Good luck to you. As I mentioned, karma is a bitch. Or perhaps, who needs karma when they have the life you live.

I am glad I am not making car payments right now

Because I would be PISSED if I was paying for the lifestyles of the rich and clueless. Who just want to be richer and dumber.

Today it was the Big Three from Detroit who went to Capitol Hill to demand an automotive bailout.

Give me a break! It's like that story about the Emperor with no clothes on. Someone needs to point out that the lumbering old automotive behemoth is nekkid.

Why on earth should taxpayers be required to bailout the auto industry? An industry that behaves very much like a churlish old uncle that no one can remember whose side he's from and who drinks too much at family functions and tells off-color jokes that insult everyone in a two foot radius. I mean really. Throw us a bone or an electric car for the masses at least!

It's surreal.

As for me, I am going to stick to buying junkers off of Craigslist. I've had pretty good luck. And at least I won't be giving any money to any company who says this, in response to inquiries about traveling via private jet to ask for a bailout:

"Making a big to-do about this when issues vital to the jobs of millions of Americans are being discussed in Washington is diverting attention away from a critical debate that will determine the future health of the auto industry and the American economy," GM spokesman Tom Wilkinson.

Dear Mr. Tom Wilkinson, you are very bad at your job. The only person worse at their job was Marie Antoinette. She also goaded the masses, and look what happened to her. Chop! Chop!

Here's a tip, and it's a freebie, flying about the country on private jets is a great way to generate plenty of free bad publicity at the very moment when you ought to be making every attempt at genuflection, no matter how insincere.

Even I know that.

This is why I luuuurve the NYT

They use word like "Calamity" and "Fancy Pants" on the front page.

10 Bonus points for you if you can answer this one....

So in case you've been wondering where I've been on recent Friday nights, I've been playing Trivial Pursuit at the Trident Bookseller & Cafe.

And guess what? Team Smartie Pants is on fire!

At first ShiftyMike and I had a go at trivia because I kept winning at Scrabble and I honestly felt badly about not being able to at least throw one game. ShiftyMike is an awfully good sport about it though.

The first time we went we won, much to our complete amazement. We really were not expecting that one at all.

Since then we've been on a winning streak. It's pretty ridiculous, especially when you consider the questions are hard. Which is a nice change.

SO the bonus question last night was: On the television series KnightRider, what was the name of KITT's nemesis?

And don't be the a**hole who Googles it ok. You either know it or you don't. And yeah, you probably don't.

And the answer is not F.O.R.D. - Found On Road Dead.

Trivia is every Friday night at 8 and is hosted by the dry and charming Max Power. It's free and you are not required to order anything, but you might as well. You will know who I am because I am the one who says "holy crap we were right?!" after every correct answer.

See you there!

Dial 'S' for.....

Shut the f*ck up!

Is the Boston Globe kidding with the article about people who are ashamed of their cellphone?

Possibly my favorite bit is this quote :

"You can tell a lot about a person by the kind of phone they carry," says image consultant Doris Klietmann. "If you have someone with a BlackBerry, you can usually assume they're educated and they either earn a good salary or they have an important job that requires them to be in constant communication. You can also assume that someone with a 16-gigabyte iPhone also makes a decent amount of money and is someone who always has to have the newest thing. People who have these phones are conscious of things like fashion designers and like to stay on top of trends."

Hmmm oh really? And I thought when one "assumed" it made an "ass" out of "u" and "me".

I have never assumed anything about someone based on their goddamn cellphone. Admittedly I have judged some people as colossal twats for carrying on loud conversation in publics, usually about nothing interesting whatsoever. But not because of the phone they were hollering into.
Can you hear me now? How about now? And now?

Plus who cares how much money you earn, probably you're just going to pay for it on your credit card anyway. When I see the a big fancy expensive house I don't think "educated" or important job", instead I think "adjustable rate mortgage" and "short sale". Hey, images can be deceiving.

And anyway a Blackberry looks like a calculator. Or a remote control. No matter what anyone says. Sorry.

My second favorite quote is this:

"A lot of gadgets these days have become more of a style or status symbol," said Steve Kidera of the CEA. "Look at TVs. It used to be that people would hide them in the armoires. But now they're prominently displayed like art."

Ok, if you display a tv like art, you are an idiot. And you don't know what art is. Not that I know what art is either, but I know that you know it when you see it and a tv doesn't count.

At any rate, after I finished the article, I really was thinking that it was meant to be submitted to the Onion. Or published on April Fool's Day.

Oh, that's my calculator ringing. Gotta run and tot up some sums! Bye!

Sign o' the Times

First of all this sign has been hanging there for at least 6 months.


And secondly, I am thinking the errors in spelling are directly related to the fact that it hasn't opened yet.

It's a sport bar that serves coktails and also offers causal dining.

Yipes.

LiquorLand Wine Tasting

I think that LiquorLand has become quite the hipster place since its relocation to Mass Ave. It's the the trucker cap circa sometime late 1990's/early 2000's.*

It's still gungy enough for the wino's to feel at home, and hip enough to carry locally distilled spirits.

And one more reason to love them is that they are having a holiday wine tasting, and at first I was sort of annoyed at the holiday theme, until I realized that it is more of a Thanksgiving holiday promotion!

Yay, Thanksgiving does come first!

I plan to go with La Maman, which I think is probably the hip thing to do. Right?


*Let me just point out that I am not hip in anyway and have never understood the trucker cap popularity. I have always thought they made the wearer look dorky. And perhaps that is the point and it's meant to be hipster and ironical, but as a big dork myself, I don't know why anyone would try to be dorky. So when I say late 1990's/early 2000's, it is just a guess.

Tisn't the season, not yet!!

Ugh.

It's around 60F here in the town of the Bean, for some weird reason all the leaves are simultaneously turning red and flame and yellow and flying off the branches, and I am gearing up for Thanksgiving, while my neighbors are grilling in shorts & flip flops.

The most recent light frost was a few weeks back, and already I am sick of C-mas.

Every third tv ad is C-mas related, and two local radio stations are playing "holiday favorites". And Infinti cars are running ads trying to persuade people to give the gift of a luxury vehicle.

Are they for F*CKING REAL????

Who in the advertising department at Infiniti truly thinks that anyone watching local broadcasting is going to give a fancy car as a C-mas gift this year, of all years? Do they honestly have no idea what has been going on in the real world lately?

Bozos.

It's putting me off the holiday altogether.

But I am still excite about Thanksgiving! Whoo hoo! And today I listened to Alice's Restaurant and that improved my mood considerably.

Thanksgiving Comes First

Last year Jim over at Suldog wrote about how Thanksgiving comes first and how any retailer who starts ramming C-mas down our throats before Thanksgiving ought to be boycotted.

I wholeheartedly agree. If I could agree more than wholeheartedly I would. Wholebodily? Yeah, wholebodily.

Why does this bother me so much, especially as I am not even a Christian? Well technically I am, but uh, that's a technicality. I was baptized in the church and at that time the only protest options available were to pee on the reverend, or to cry at the top of my lungs. I probably did both.

I hate it because it's a brazen push for retailers to squeeze yet more money out of a mostly financially strapped country - shoddily dressing it up in a cheap veneer of goodwill toward all. I hate it because it's a false hustle, trying to rush people through life. Life is so short as it is, what on earth are we racing to the finish for? The finish line is death! Boo!

I want to be here today, for every hour of it. I am grateful for my tomorrows no matter how crappy my today is. One day, followed by the next, not skipping through the days, leapfrogging from one holiday to the next, as if individual days are of no importance.

I look forward to Thanksgiving because it's a marker, tangible proof that we are together as a family, that we have our health, and a bountiful table. Our wants are few, our needs are met. Our lives are very, very, good. I know this is true daily, but it's nice to celebrate that once a year, like a birthday. But I am still glad for Tuesdays, and Sundays, and all the other days of the year.

Lately I've noticed a couple of C-mas ads on the teeeeeeeeeev. Notably:

- Walmart
- KMart (it's possible I am thinking of Walmart...)
- Hallmark Shops
- Blue Man Group

And those retailers are going on the boycott list. Also on the list is anyone who promotes gift giving at Thanksgiving.

Because THANKSGIVING COMES FIRST!

I voted!

I got to the polling station a little after 7am and the line was out the door, and just down Northampton Street to Shawmut Ave.

By the time I had parked and walked down, the line was around the corner and I managed to get in line at Shawmut and Comet Place.


Within about 20 minutes of getting in line, the line stretched to Mass Ave. And from all accounts the line pretty much remained the same all day. Front to back that's just about 3/4 of a mile.

From Comet Place to the ballot desk took about an hour and fifty minutes. Then another 10 or so minutes to complete the ballot and then turn it in. Just around 9am I was heading out the door, excited to have cast my vote.

It was a long wait mainly because there were only 12 voting stations. And also because the group ahead of me started of as two women, but apparently they were holding places for their friends because as we started to inch forward, more people joined their group. Sort of obnoxious behavior but one woman in the group would fart every time she sneezed and I thought that was hilarious. However other folks in the line did take them to task for basically being line cutters.

I have to say that this is the first time that I have ever felt that something extraordinary is about to happen and that it is the result of the will of the people.