Boston is a great city. This statement is all the more convincing given that I grew up outside of New York City - the center of the civilized world. Fashion radiates from NYC outward, and my shopping obsession is probably due in part to my birthplace being so close to this mecca. Still, when I went to college near Boston, I was curious about this other city. Did it measure up? What was the deal with that accent? And really, why do people care so much about the Red Sox? They never had anyone on their team that's as dreamy as Derek Jeter anyway (apologies to Rain Delay who is excommunicating me from his life...now).
Anyway, I fell in love (that can be most closely likened to an illicit affair, because Manhattan will always be my true love) with Boston very easily. It's an easy city, and by that I mean that the people are friendly; the public transportation is easy to navigate; it's clean and rarely smells like urine; and it's got an early American vibe that I worship. I recently spent a few days in Boston, and my time there reminded me of all these qualities, and a few more that I didn't appreciate until now:
(1) They repaint that Freedom Trail all the damn time -- and I appreciate that, because I have zero sense of direction. However, if I know the Trail goes by where I'm headed, I will circle around any number of historical sites to avoid getting lost.
(2) No sales tax on clothes under $175 AND anything over $175 is only taxed by the amount in excess of $175. GENIUS!
(3) Preppies abound. 'Nuf said.
(4) If you even look lost or confused, it's only a matter of moments before a nice stranger stops and offers directions. They might not be right, but the offer is sweet.
(5) Beer is cheaper - usually.
(6) Newbury Street - a less obnoxious and scary 5th Avenue.
(7) The "T" -- $1.25 a ride. Every time I got on, I internally smiled at the $.75 I was saving per ride by not being in NYC.
(8) Boston Cream Pie.
(9) Hah-vard -- they actually have their own museums.
(10) Did I mention that sales tax thing??
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Fearing fear
Fear is such a strange and varied emotion. Lately, I've been more and more afraid of running a marathon. I've been following the training program and doing the things I should, but there are times where the whole idea seems so impossible and I'm scared I won't be able to do it. Part of this fear is due to the embarrassment I will feel if I have to tell family and friends that I couldn't do it. Another, bigger piece of it is my fear that what I'm physically capable of might be definitively limited. Given the option, I'd probably be more content not knowing my body had limits, and allowing myself to believe I was able to do anything I attempted. Then again, what fun is running, or anything else for that matter, if you don't see how far you can go?
My curiosity has gotten the better of me. I've been bitten by the running bug. Insert all other applicable euphemisms. For better or for worse, I'm doing this -- and damn it, I'm gonna like it!
My curiosity has gotten the better of me. I've been bitten by the running bug. Insert all other applicable euphemisms. For better or for worse, I'm doing this -- and damn it, I'm gonna like it!
Monday, March 13, 2006
Running In the Rain
I ran my first race on Sunday. The race was only four miles, and though I've run many more than that on my own, I was nervous. I woke up that morning with the same jitters I used to get on the mornings of final exams. When I got to the park where the race was being held, I immediately began sizing up all the other runners, which was completely absurd given that I was not trying to win anything. I just wanted to get a feel for what a race was like. As I lined up in at the minutes per mile marker I felt most appropriate, my heart started racing before my legs did. The horn sounded, and I was off.
Prior to the start, it had been drizzling, but as I approached the first mile marker, it began to rain steadily - big drops pelting my face. I was so focused that after noticing the rain, I blocked it out entirely. I finished the first mile in good time, but I knew I could be going faster. I steadily increased my pace, bobbing and weaving through open spaces between the other runners. Eventually, I was keeping pace with the runners a full minute per mile faster than my usual pace. I was exhilarated as I hit Mile 3, full of foolish beginner's pride. I got a little cocky, as I sped up even more in that last mile, rounding the last few bends in the path like Speed Racer. In a flash, it hit me. I was gonna hurl. The waves of nausea washed over me faster than the rain, at the extact moment that I reached the crowds waiting near the finish line. Out of necessity, I slowed down and prayed that I would not throw up in front of JB, my sister, her boyfriend and countless strangers. I coughed without meaning to, managed not to yack and made it across the finish line with what was barely a jog. I don't know if it was nerves, my inability to eat much that early in the morning, that I pushed myself too hard in Mile 4, or stage fright in front of the spectators. I can't even think about the time I lost in the last tenth of a mile or so, but I am so obscenely proud of myself. I did it!
Prior to the start, it had been drizzling, but as I approached the first mile marker, it began to rain steadily - big drops pelting my face. I was so focused that after noticing the rain, I blocked it out entirely. I finished the first mile in good time, but I knew I could be going faster. I steadily increased my pace, bobbing and weaving through open spaces between the other runners. Eventually, I was keeping pace with the runners a full minute per mile faster than my usual pace. I was exhilarated as I hit Mile 3, full of foolish beginner's pride. I got a little cocky, as I sped up even more in that last mile, rounding the last few bends in the path like Speed Racer. In a flash, it hit me. I was gonna hurl. The waves of nausea washed over me faster than the rain, at the extact moment that I reached the crowds waiting near the finish line. Out of necessity, I slowed down and prayed that I would not throw up in front of JB, my sister, her boyfriend and countless strangers. I coughed without meaning to, managed not to yack and made it across the finish line with what was barely a jog. I don't know if it was nerves, my inability to eat much that early in the morning, that I pushed myself too hard in Mile 4, or stage fright in front of the spectators. I can't even think about the time I lost in the last tenth of a mile or so, but I am so obscenely proud of myself. I did it!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Bookworm
When I was a little girl, I devoured books. My favorite places were the local library and Waldenbooks. I liked nothing better than settling into my Dad's big (enormous at the time, given my size) recliner with a book and staying there until I was done. I remember crying my eyes out after finishing Charlotte's Web, and a few years later, The Bluest Eye. I loved reading so much that I majored in English in college. When college ended and I was faced with working rather than reading, I did the obvious thing: I went to grad school.
For the larger part of the last three years, I have been a member of the workforce. In that time, reading has become a sporadic and at times nonexistent hobby. Spending anywhere from eight to ten hours a day staring at a computer screen has come to mean that even though I want to read at night, I can't bring myself to open a book. I gravitate toward passive, mind-numbing television shows and trashy celebrity gossip magazines replete with more glossy photos than actual words. I wonder where the unadulterated joy that used to accompany my reading has gone, and how I can get it back. It would be nice if the key was a nice, cushy recliner, but it's probably not that simple. I don't think I'll give up though. I suspect this just a hiatus, albeit a longer one than I'd like.
For the larger part of the last three years, I have been a member of the workforce. In that time, reading has become a sporadic and at times nonexistent hobby. Spending anywhere from eight to ten hours a day staring at a computer screen has come to mean that even though I want to read at night, I can't bring myself to open a book. I gravitate toward passive, mind-numbing television shows and trashy celebrity gossip magazines replete with more glossy photos than actual words. I wonder where the unadulterated joy that used to accompany my reading has gone, and how I can get it back. It would be nice if the key was a nice, cushy recliner, but it's probably not that simple. I don't think I'll give up though. I suspect this just a hiatus, albeit a longer one than I'd like.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
the slowest week in history
Some weeks, I just cannot see the weekend. I woke up this morning convinced that today was Thursday, only to realize within minutes that it was only Wednesday. The time until the weekend seemed infinite. I moved slower through my morning routine, trudging over to the bathroom, then ambling back to the bureau for perfume and deodorant. Then, I struggled to attach the coffee mug top, spilling hot coffee all over my hand. This took me an extra 5-10 minutes to clean up, before I finally left the apartment. I had no spring in my step on the way to the subway, and all day I've been absent enthusiasm and energy. It's a mystery to me why some weeks pass in a flash, and others meander along aimlessly until they're finally put out of their misery by the arrival of 7 p.m. on Friday night.
It seems like it's been 2:22 pm. all day long. I may as well be Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.
Tonight I am going to take the bull by the horns, put on my pj's, get into bed and pass out, thereby ending one neverending day in this endless week.
It seems like it's been 2:22 pm. all day long. I may as well be Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.
Tonight I am going to take the bull by the horns, put on my pj's, get into bed and pass out, thereby ending one neverending day in this endless week.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Dr. McDreamy
I have an irrational girl crush on Patrick Dempsey. This crush did not start with his turn as Grey's Anatomy's McDreamy. Rather, it began with Can't Buy Me Love, continued with With Honors, resurfaced with Sweet Home Alabama and has reached new heights of silliness with Grey's Anatomy. Pitifully, I can't seem to look away from the television on Sunday nights from 10 p.m. until 11 p.m. JB, the boyfriend, mercifully indulges my crush by being silent for that hour and letting me giggle and swoon over Mr. Dempsey.
If I were 13, I'd probably have his picture, clipped from the pages of Teen Beat, adorning the wall of my bedroom. At 27, I settle for the weekly episodes of his show, that is, until this week. Senor Dempsey has been featured on the Barbara Walters special AND they're running Sweet Home Alabama on the same network tonight. How did the 13 year old trapped in my 27 year old body ever get so lucky? More importantly, how will I simultaneously watch the movie and the American Idol results show?
I need help, lots of help. Damn it McDreamy.
If I were 13, I'd probably have his picture, clipped from the pages of Teen Beat, adorning the wall of my bedroom. At 27, I settle for the weekly episodes of his show, that is, until this week. Senor Dempsey has been featured on the Barbara Walters special AND they're running Sweet Home Alabama on the same network tonight. How did the 13 year old trapped in my 27 year old body ever get so lucky? More importantly, how will I simultaneously watch the movie and the American Idol results show?
I need help, lots of help. Damn it McDreamy.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Rituals
I've always liked the phrase "creatures of habit." I suspect I'm not alone in my affinity for comforting daily routines. Every morning, I leave my apartment at 8:00 a.m., taking the same route to the subway station. I then get the same free newspaper from the guy who stands in exactly the same spot Monday through Friday. I take the expess train (always, as long as it's running) to Grand Central station, where I muscle my way up the stairs, fighting passed the throngs of commuters coming into the city. I proceed to the newstand, where I drop a whole quarter on the New York Post (not being a morning person means I cannot read a New York Times caliber paper without 8-10 hours of sleep).
With two largely gossip-driven papers under my arm, I get on my train. Most days, I wind up in the same car on the train (which is mostly subconscious, human-experiment type stuff - I don't actually pay attention to where I'm going, but after a while you notice these things). I definitely make an effort to get the same seat within the train car. All the commuters seem to have their favorite seats, and we reserve the right to mumble irritably under our breath if some non-daily traveler has the nerve to get their first and swipe our seats.
After settling into my seat, I read my papers, then put my IPod headphones in my ear and crank up the volume for the walk from the train station to the office. If you've found this post boring, you're not alone. I was bored just writing it. The monotonous life of the train commuter is mind-numbing. This, of course, explains why so many of us read trashy celebrity gossip magazines or flock to the bar car/beer stand to make the whole thing more interesting.
With two largely gossip-driven papers under my arm, I get on my train. Most days, I wind up in the same car on the train (which is mostly subconscious, human-experiment type stuff - I don't actually pay attention to where I'm going, but after a while you notice these things). I definitely make an effort to get the same seat within the train car. All the commuters seem to have their favorite seats, and we reserve the right to mumble irritably under our breath if some non-daily traveler has the nerve to get their first and swipe our seats.
After settling into my seat, I read my papers, then put my IPod headphones in my ear and crank up the volume for the walk from the train station to the office. If you've found this post boring, you're not alone. I was bored just writing it. The monotonous life of the train commuter is mind-numbing. This, of course, explains why so many of us read trashy celebrity gossip magazines or flock to the bar car/beer stand to make the whole thing more interesting.
Longing for Spring
A little madness in the Spring is wholesome even for the King.
-Emily Dickinson
Well, I've got the madness part down, so where is Spring? Historically, I have never been one of those people who longs for the next season. I don't suffer from seasonal depression, and I barely notice the change of seasons, save for the change in clothes I put on in the morning.
This year is different. I am actually longing for Spring. My body has not been warm in weeks. I spend all day thawing out from the walk to the office, only to refreeze on the way home. I've been sick for two full months this Winter. I used to love sweaters and pretty coats, and now all I want are sundresses and skirts. I daydream of running outside in sixty degree weather, with the sun shining. Every time I pass a restaurant, I envision the outdoor seating that comes with Spring.
When did everything shift, such that I began counting the days until Spring? It could be that my pitiful excuse for an immune system needs a break from fighting against the elements. Maybe my taste in fashion has changed, yielding a new preference for pastels and linens. No, after careful consideration, I think the big shift has more to do with my stage in life. I'm 27 years old, unmarried and entirely unsure what I want to do with my career. If I could just press fast-forward a little bit, I might find the clarity that eludes me. Wiser people will caution me that every moment in life is meant to be embraced, not passed by on the way to a more definite existence. I know I can't (and wouldn't if given the option) fast-forward life, but embracing every moment is so much easier to do when the sun's shining and the Spring breeze is blowing every so lightly.
-Emily Dickinson
Well, I've got the madness part down, so where is Spring? Historically, I have never been one of those people who longs for the next season. I don't suffer from seasonal depression, and I barely notice the change of seasons, save for the change in clothes I put on in the morning.
This year is different. I am actually longing for Spring. My body has not been warm in weeks. I spend all day thawing out from the walk to the office, only to refreeze on the way home. I've been sick for two full months this Winter. I used to love sweaters and pretty coats, and now all I want are sundresses and skirts. I daydream of running outside in sixty degree weather, with the sun shining. Every time I pass a restaurant, I envision the outdoor seating that comes with Spring.
When did everything shift, such that I began counting the days until Spring? It could be that my pitiful excuse for an immune system needs a break from fighting against the elements. Maybe my taste in fashion has changed, yielding a new preference for pastels and linens. No, after careful consideration, I think the big shift has more to do with my stage in life. I'm 27 years old, unmarried and entirely unsure what I want to do with my career. If I could just press fast-forward a little bit, I might find the clarity that eludes me. Wiser people will caution me that every moment in life is meant to be embraced, not passed by on the way to a more definite existence. I know I can't (and wouldn't if given the option) fast-forward life, but embracing every moment is so much easier to do when the sun's shining and the Spring breeze is blowing every so lightly.
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