The working class is officially one member stronger. I started working as Production Designer this morning and am loving it thus far. My day wasn't so much full of designing as it was HR paperwork, manuals, and desk organizing. It was all great, though! I'm excited to be a part of the department and to get the designing going.
Working at W.B. Mason has an amazing perk that I hadn't considered before this morning. Every cubicle and every desk is stocked to the nines. The best wall calendars, post-it dispensers, and erasable hilighters overflow the workspaces. Yes, that's right. Erasable hilighters. I erased pink hilighter today. Success!
Needless to say, I look forward to my second day of my career... and all the office supplies it has to offer.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Little Pond
"There's 9 million people in New York. 4.5 million women. Of course, you want to meet someone roughly your own age - let's say plus, minus 5 years. So if you take into account the most recent census data that leaves us with 482,000 women. But wait! 48% of those are already in relationships and then you have to eliminate half for intelligence, sense of humor and compatibility. And then you have to take out the ex girlfriends and the relatives. And, oh, you can't forget those lesbians. And then that leaves us with 8 women." -Ellen Pierce, How I Met Your Mother
Just as it did Ted on this episode, the statement terrifies me. Could this be true? Does it apply to men in Boston, too? This has been on my mind recently. Who am I kidding, it has been on my mind since junior high school. Movies, books, television, and so on make the dating game seem like a walk in the park that ends at a magestic fountain where woodland creatures gathered to romantically seranade you and your soul mate. I don't know about you, but squirrels haven't sung to me recently. Finding someone was not supposed to be this difficult. The metaphorical pond is getting smaller and apparently I can't fish. I know I'm not the only one, but some days it certainly feels that way.
Just as it did Ted on this episode, the statement terrifies me. Could this be true? Does it apply to men in Boston, too? This has been on my mind recently. Who am I kidding, it has been on my mind since junior high school. Movies, books, television, and so on make the dating game seem like a walk in the park that ends at a magestic fountain where woodland creatures gathered to romantically seranade you and your soul mate. I don't know about you, but squirrels haven't sung to me recently. Finding someone was not supposed to be this difficult. The metaphorical pond is getting smaller and apparently I can't fish. I know I'm not the only one, but some days it certainly feels that way.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Oh, Poo
Warning: This will not be a pleasant topic. Read with caution.
Any reader who is a dog owner, please listen closely. Before I begin, know that I do love dogs. I love animals in general, as a matter of fact. With that being said, I also know the laws of nature. I realize that when you have to go, you have to go, whether you be dog, cat, human, rat, fish, monkey, elephant, or worm. It's all a part of life. This part of life, however, does not belong on the bottom of my shoe. This is where I begin my post...
Pick up after your pet. Really, it's not terribly difficult. On your way out the door you take your dog, leash, keys, perhaps a flashlight, umbrella (weather-dependent), and maybe pepperspray (in which case, I suggest moving out of your neighborhood). Might I also suggest adding a plastic bag to the mix? Let me point out the pros here. 1) They easily compact and are immediately disposable. 2) Your dog will be less embarrassed. I realize this one is a stretch, but I don't know what kind of prissy animal you have. I don't judge. 3) Your neighbors will praise you for cleaning the streets (perhaps not outwardly, because unfortunately this is a thankless act, but, boy, is it noticed when it's not done!) instead of cursing you.
Recently, I've had a few run-ins with poo in the city and it has to end. It all began the first day my family came to visit. I brought them upstairs, gave them the grand tour of the new pad, sat down in the living room to chat and suddenly there was the smell. At first we didn't know what it was. Theories sprouted, cat pee (eww), throw up (gag), then what could it be? Finally we checked our shoes. Dad had been hit. The discovery sent us on a cleaning spree (only after raucous laughter and mockery), retracing the grand tour that his shoes had been on. It was not a big deal, only the first occurence; we survived.
The second attack came a few days later. I was proudly wearing my brand new, pristine, gleaming Asics. No sense beating around the bush, they're pretty. That particular evening it was raining and past sunset. Per usual, I was walking home. As I stepped in the first door to our building, I caught a whiff. Of course, there on the sole of my shoe, creeping dangerously close to the white material on the side, was the poo. Boo. Fortunately, I discovered it before I stepped into our apartment. It still didn't negate the fact that I was peeved. I decided to ere on the side of hilarity, though, and texted my dad, "I stepped in poo too. My crap's worse than yours." To which he simply, and rightly, replied, "HA!" But it got me thinking, why be so lazy, owners?!
The third time happened this past Tuesday. It was a mass disaster. We were playing frisbee in a field. Dogs frollicked in the background. We should have known. The game's grounds became a mine field. Everyone wound up with poopy shoes (one unfortunate player decided to go barefoot, this did not prove a wise decision...).
Long story short, please pick up after your pets. I don't consider my shoe to be a picker-upper and I know others agree. I'm pleading here, folks. Just do it.
Any reader who is a dog owner, please listen closely. Before I begin, know that I do love dogs. I love animals in general, as a matter of fact. With that being said, I also know the laws of nature. I realize that when you have to go, you have to go, whether you be dog, cat, human, rat, fish, monkey, elephant, or worm. It's all a part of life. This part of life, however, does not belong on the bottom of my shoe. This is where I begin my post...
Pick up after your pet. Really, it's not terribly difficult. On your way out the door you take your dog, leash, keys, perhaps a flashlight, umbrella (weather-dependent), and maybe pepperspray (in which case, I suggest moving out of your neighborhood). Might I also suggest adding a plastic bag to the mix? Let me point out the pros here. 1) They easily compact and are immediately disposable. 2) Your dog will be less embarrassed. I realize this one is a stretch, but I don't know what kind of prissy animal you have. I don't judge. 3) Your neighbors will praise you for cleaning the streets (perhaps not outwardly, because unfortunately this is a thankless act, but, boy, is it noticed when it's not done!) instead of cursing you.
Recently, I've had a few run-ins with poo in the city and it has to end. It all began the first day my family came to visit. I brought them upstairs, gave them the grand tour of the new pad, sat down in the living room to chat and suddenly there was the smell. At first we didn't know what it was. Theories sprouted, cat pee (eww), throw up (gag), then what could it be? Finally we checked our shoes. Dad had been hit. The discovery sent us on a cleaning spree (only after raucous laughter and mockery), retracing the grand tour that his shoes had been on. It was not a big deal, only the first occurence; we survived.
The second attack came a few days later. I was proudly wearing my brand new, pristine, gleaming Asics. No sense beating around the bush, they're pretty. That particular evening it was raining and past sunset. Per usual, I was walking home. As I stepped in the first door to our building, I caught a whiff. Of course, there on the sole of my shoe, creeping dangerously close to the white material on the side, was the poo. Boo. Fortunately, I discovered it before I stepped into our apartment. It still didn't negate the fact that I was peeved. I decided to ere on the side of hilarity, though, and texted my dad, "I stepped in poo too. My crap's worse than yours." To which he simply, and rightly, replied, "HA!" But it got me thinking, why be so lazy, owners?!
The third time happened this past Tuesday. It was a mass disaster. We were playing frisbee in a field. Dogs frollicked in the background. We should have known. The game's grounds became a mine field. Everyone wound up with poopy shoes (one unfortunate player decided to go barefoot, this did not prove a wise decision...).
Long story short, please pick up after your pets. I don't consider my shoe to be a picker-upper and I know others agree. I'm pleading here, folks. Just do it.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
A Big Fall
Ahhh, Fall. Fall is wonderful: crisp air, harvest flavors, cozy scarves, turning leaves, apple cider, football games, farms and fairs. The Jills and I ventured to Ipswitch Saturday afternoon to get our fill of fall festivities. We began by picking quite possibly the largest apples in any orchard this season. Seriously, news might leak that they used performance enhancing drugs... they're huge! The size of the apples was only diminished by the size of Big Boy the pig. His name does not do him justice. He is a monstrous animal, weighing in somewhere over 2,000 pounds (Jill remembered that they stopped weighing him at a certain point. Can you blame them?!) As it turns out, 'big' became a theme of the day. First came the apples and the pig, followed by all things big at the Topsfield Fair. Big crowds swarmed the fair grounds to indulge in big plates of big, typically deep fried, concoctions while they pushed big strollers that trailed their big balloon prizes. For some reason, these big balloon prizes were typically of the Spiderman variety. I don't know why. I digress. Anyway, I'm not kidding, everything was big.
Personally, the cherries on top were the sandcastle and prize-winning pumpkin. I was amazed by the sandcastle. A sign described how the construction crew of two painstakingly transformed blocks of compact sand into the towering artwork before us. They were still perfecting the piece with palette knives and straws, which they used to blow away the freshly shaven sand. I could've stood there for hours, but we had to continue on, bigger and better. In particular, we had to see the pumpkin. This year's prize winner clocked in at an impressive 1600-someodd pounds (still not as heavy as Big Boy, but impressive nonetheless). Rumor has it that it did not break a record; however, it didn't stop thousands of spectators from gawking.
Sunday continued the big theme, but in a different way. We journeyed to Fort Devens to cheer on Adam and his ultimate frisbee team Slow White during their regional finals game. Let me tell you, they won BIG! After that win, they will most likely be ranked first at nationals in Sarasota over Halloween weekend. They're kind of a big deal... From the game, a big group of us (eleven to be exact) ventured to a pub nearby to celebrate and feast.
I have to say, I could get used to big, fall weekends.
Jill showing the Lilliputian apple compared to the Brobdingnagian one.
Personally, the cherries on top were the sandcastle and prize-winning pumpkin. I was amazed by the sandcastle. A sign described how the construction crew of two painstakingly transformed blocks of compact sand into the towering artwork before us. They were still perfecting the piece with palette knives and straws, which they used to blow away the freshly shaven sand. I could've stood there for hours, but we had to continue on, bigger and better. In particular, we had to see the pumpkin. This year's prize winner clocked in at an impressive 1600-someodd pounds (still not as heavy as Big Boy, but impressive nonetheless). Rumor has it that it did not break a record; however, it didn't stop thousands of spectators from gawking.
Sculptor hard at work
Sunday continued the big theme, but in a different way. We journeyed to Fort Devens to cheer on Adam and his ultimate frisbee team Slow White during their regional finals game. Let me tell you, they won BIG! After that win, they will most likely be ranked first at nationals in Sarasota over Halloween weekend. They're kind of a big deal... From the game, a big group of us (eleven to be exact) ventured to a pub nearby to celebrate and feast.
We are finally taking roommate pictures, slowly but surely.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Taste of Home
In the excitement of the past couple months, I hadn't realized how much I missed certain people. The Inn was my home away from home for three years. During the long summer months, I was guaranteed to be running -sorry, Zanna, no matter how hard we tried to 'glide' it simply did not happen- to the porch, ready to serve the next Bud Light and Chieftain Salad. Post-shift, you could find the staff laughing together in the bar, happily celebrating the end to another hectic night (at least we hoped it was hectic!). These are the moments I miss with the people who became family.
A few of us were able to get together Thursday night to help Zanna celebrate her birthday. In true Inn fashion, songs were sung (thanks to the best musicians to travel to the pub, Becky Chace and Brian Minisce... my apologies for spelling...), drinks were drunk, and cakes were enjoyed. It was amazing to be there again; I truly love and miss you all!
A few of us were able to get together Thursday night to help Zanna celebrate her birthday. In true Inn fashion, songs were sung (thanks to the best musicians to travel to the pub, Becky Chace and Brian Minisce... my apologies for spelling...), drinks were drunk, and cakes were enjoyed. It was amazing to be there again; I truly love and miss you all!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Sports City
In case you hadn't heard, Boston is the sports town. Red Sox. Bruins. Celtics. Patriots (Okay, they're not located in Boston, but their spirit is here and that's what matters. I just hit official cheeseball-status). Even the Revolution (This is just for the soccer fans out there; I would hate to leave you out. Not going to lie though, I haven't met a die-hard Revolution fan in my day. This doesn't mean they don't exist. You can show yourselves!). Even in October, when the temperature has suddenly dropped to a crisp 50 and the playoff push is finished -and not in the good way- I am willing to sit in Fenway Park, my favorite place in the city, and cheer on the Sox. This is exactly what Adam and I did Saturday night. Thanks to a pair of free Sox-Yankees tickets, we attempted to learn the third-string players instantaneously and enjoyed every painful play. And let me tell you, it was some painful baseball. Not only was the game destined to be long (the teams had just concluded the first game of Saturday's double-header, oh, two minutes before we arrived, plus the rivals are known to extend games into ungodly hours of the night to prolong the drama and test their fans' heart health), but Daisuke was pitching. To put it mildly, he is not known for his speedy play... nor, let's face it nowadays, his worthy or decent play. Regardless, it was a fun night at the ball park. The Sox came back in the bottom of the 8th. The Yankees couldn't produce. Suddenly, we were between a rock and a hard place. It was 12:45am. The last train was to leave Kenmore at one. It was the top of the 9th inning. The game was tied. True, the Sox season was over, but we are die-hard fans. The chill in the air, however, decided for us. We raced to catch the T and managed to make it home in time to see the Sox win in the bottom of the 10th. All in all, a great night of sports in the sports town.
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