When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Make Really Bad Analogies
I think the following antidote is the perfect analogy for how my life has seemed lately:
On Tuesday, I realized that no one in my fantasy baseball league had snatched up Pokey Reese. This was a complete surprise to me, considering that two members of my league are a Red Sox fan and his brother who will intentionally take Red Sox players just to get his goat (example being who just happens to have Nomar). So I dropped my under performing 2nd baseman and picked up Reese (who Peter King referred to as "The Pokester" in Monday's column--frankly, I'm scared).
Later that night, I turn on the radio to catch the last few innings of the Red Sox-Rockies game. And I swear, within 2 minutes of turning on the game, the announcer says, "In case you just joined us, Pokey Reese scratched tonight with an injury..."
Of course.
Thankfully, he's not on the DL or anything, and he came back two days later, but still. It's just my luck.
I would elaborate, but things seem to be getting better, plus no one wants to hear about post-graduation syndrome, 'cause ya'll have gone/will go through it sooner or later. And this is all it is. The best thing people can do for me is to say to me randomly, "Kat, put the application to Canisius/UB/U of R away." or "Kat, stop outlining cover letters to jobs in Rochester." Or better yet, say, "Kat, suck it up and live with the fact that you'll have loan payments until you're 60. There's nothing you can do about it."
Actually, I should write them out on big pieces of paper and wallpaper my room with them. They're my new mantras. "Put the resume paper away. You do not need to apply to that job at St. John Fisher/Nazareth/fill in the blank with any school in Western NY. Back away from your resume. Stop thinking off convincing reasons why someone should hire you without your Masters."
I will suck it up, take out more loans, stick it out and get my Master's from Boston University if it's the last thing I do.
And that is that.
--So I was walking down the street to the T the other morning, and a guy was walking towards me. He had a smallish-medium black cargo bag. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a cargo bag. You know, serves the same purpose of a backpack, but you don't look like a middle schooler carrying it. (Which I do when I carry a backpack. I look like I'm 12. Some may argue that I look like I'm 12 all the time, but for my dignity, I'd like to contend that it's just when I'm wearing my backpack.)
The guy sees me walking and starts fidgeting with the bag, like it was uncomfortable. He's looking down at it. As we walk by each other, he looks at me and kind of shrugs and quickly looks at his bag. It seemed to me that he was embarrassed to be seen by a girl carrying the bag. It was the kind of look that said, "Don't mind my man bag, my girlfriend/mother/grandmother/aunt gave me it and it was the only thing that held all the stuff I needed for work, but really, I'm not into man bags, I wouldn't buy them for myself, no, not at all..." I felt really bad for the guy. For the record, I tried to give that, "I'm not going to judge you for your man bag" look, but it was too late. I don't hate on the man bags, so Men of Boston, don't be so self-conscious.
Men in Boston are interesting. There are tons of totally nice looking ones. I mean, I remember my first day of college at Ithaca, where I looked around and was like, "It's a guy supermarket! No, a guy Wegmans! There's all these different kinds, and they're all good!" Yeah, Boston is like that 200-fold. It's a guy Pittsford, NY Wegmans. (The Pittsford Wegmans is a super-crazy-get-lost-no-matter-how-much-you-try-not-to Wegmans with everything ever. Example: I am addicted to Manichevitz Macaroons. Normally, you're really lucky if you can find one variety, even at Passover time. Not at the Pittsford Wegmans, where they stock like every single flavor all year round. Yummmmm....)
Well, hold on. The analogy isn't complete yet. So Boston is the guy Pittsford, NY Wegmans. But I am the lone customer without a Shoppers Club Card, while every other female in Boston has theirs. I don't know yet about the Shopper's Club Card, but look at the discounts longingly and ask myself, "Why can't I get that price?"
Have I totally lost you yet?
Analogy complete. What I'm saying is that I see all these great fantastic totally hot and sports loving guys with totally lovable Boston accents, but I haven't a clue how to get them yet. I'm working on it though--I've caught acceptable guys staring at me several times lately, so I'm making progress.
Basically, Kat needs a man, because Kat's jaded and old and Kat can't sit around and watch NESN, ESPN Classic, Showbiz Moms and Dads and Food Network 24-7. And Kat needs to stop talking in the third person.
--I give you the wisdom of Drew Bledsoe:
”I’ll throw a couple times a week, just enough to keep my arm in shape and the last week and a half before camp I’ll throw a little more,” Bledsoe said. “(I’ll throw to) anybody I can find, my brother, and there’s usually a couple neighborhood kids out in Montana. Or I’ll hang something up on the garage wall and throw at that.”
Western NY, your starting quarterback is going to pick some 9 year old off the playground in Montana of all places, and be like, "Let's play catch," and somehow that's going to help him prepare for trying to get the Bills out of the depths of depression. I mean, sure, if you lived in, oh, Louisiana or Texas, sure, maybe that would help. But Montana? Imagine that neighborhood kid. "What did you do today, Timmy?" "Man, that annoying neighbor begged me to throw with him again...it was cool at first, but when he started saying, 'How'd you like that, Losman?' and hitting me with the ball when we were just supposed to be throwing the football around, and then muttering weird things under his breath about how evil the Patriots are and how he should have two Super Bowl rings, then it got kind of weird."
Yes, these are the things I think when I read the Democrat and Chronicle sports section at 7am.
(I don't hate Bledsoe. I just found that quote weird. I don't know.)
--I didn't feel the lack of old school MP3 downloading until very recently, when I just realized there are a list of songs I'd love to have, but they are all the only ones on the CDs they are on that I'm interested in, and my subscription service doesn't have them. But you know if only we had Napster in all of its heyday glory, I'd have those songs and be sick of them by now.
--A sign that I've lost all taste in music: I find the recent covers of "Take My Breath Away" by Jessica Simpson and "Our Lips Are Sealed" by Hilary Duff ten times better then the originals. I guess I need to see that Guster/Ben Folds concert more than I thought. I'll regain my taste in music after that.
--It's June, and I get to talk hockey at work. If you like hockey, go to school in Boston, I swear. It's great.
--So the decision has been made: if Dream Job decides to audition for its second season in Boston, I'm going. I'll do some manic NBA studying before hand, look extra sexy, and hope they send Tony Kornheiser down so I can get Binghamton alumni bonus points. Because really, when I get all gussied up, I'd like to think I'm one of the best looking moderately-knowledgeable female sports fans out there, and I'm using that to my advantage. And in the most probable event I don't pass the audition, at least I could maybe pick up some dates! (Trust me, my co-worker Nicole and I have been hatching my Dream Job plan for a few days now.)
--I always knew when I was little that when I was finally grown up and left to my own devices, I'd have a seriously difficult time trying to get myself to cook and not buy dinner each night. I love going out to eat, even if it means running to get coffee or bagels or whatever. I always have. And I'm left to my own devices now, with easy access to tons of restaurants and the like...and it's hard. Very hard. When I was a little girl, my parents couldn't afford to take me out to restaurants, and as I got older and they could afford it, they had littler children who wouldn't sit still in restaurants. So I'm making up for my childhood. But really, I need to stop. I've done well this week though...
--So I may have found a way to be a semi-real sportswriter, or least pretend to be one, meaning a little less blogging, but when I do blog, it'll be less about sports. Which I'm sure will excite several of you out there who aren't the biggest sports fans. But we'll see how it works out. I'll fill you all in a little later as to what I might be doing, because it's not a sure thing yet.
--More later this weekend...
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Sunday, June 06, 2004
A Rochestarian in Boston, Part 2
(or Kat Goes to a Lacrosse Game...Alone)
"Put your hands together and let's support your hometown team!!!"
Okay, I will, Boston Cannons announcer guy. But I don't think you really want me to cheer for my hometown team, because my hometown isn't Boston.
And thus is the dilemma I faced while attending the Rochester Rattlers-Boston Cannons Major League Lacrosse game at Boston U's Nickerson Field on Saturday night. I decided Saturday morning to go to the game, seeing that it would fulfill both my need to see live sports and my homesickness. For those of you not up on your Western NY sports, lacrosse is huge in Rochester and Syracuse. Rochester has two major league lacrosse teams (indoor and outdoor, and their new soccer stadium will be also the best stadium for outdoor lacrosse in the country), and Syracuse University is like the Yankees of college lacrosse. So lacrosse is a mildly sized deal there, further proving that we are just Canadians who took a few too many steps south.
However, despite my father and I always making empty promises that "this is the year" we're going to go take in a Knighthawks (indoor) or Rattlers (outdoor) game, I had never been to one. (In case you haven't noticed, my father and I say we're going to do a lot of things that we don't get to do. However, next year's trip to the Pro Football Hall of Fame is set in stone, and has been for years. Well, provided Steve Young gets inducted in his first year of eligibility.) So I decided I would go and make it my first official professional sports experience of my time in Boston (It took almost 3 weeks for my first Boston sports experience. This is saddening.). At $10 a ticket, it's probably the most affordable Boston professional sports experience I'll have. And yes, I went alone (hence the sub-title of this entry).
I'll warn you now--don't attend a Cannons game if you find 7-15 year old boys annoying. Out of the announced attendance of 5,308, about 5,000 had to be 7-15 year old lacrosse stick wielding boys. I happen to have lived with and be related to a 7-15 year old boy (albeit he'd rather play Yug-i-oh then lacrosse), so I don't find them annoying. If you know that age, they refuse to sit still, and these boys were no exception. Up, down, around, all over, all the time. But they were excited to see the Powell brothers (Casey and Ryan), who both play for the Rattlers, so I don't blame them. The Powell brothers are like the Young and Rice of lacrosse--they may not play for your team, but if you're into that sport, and get the chance to see them, you have to see them to have said you've seen them playing together. (There has to be a better analogy, but I'm currently watching Steve Young butcher a teleprompter on the Children's Miracle Network telethon, so it's the first one that popped into my head. Swoon, drool, sighhhhhhh. The man gets better with age. Okay, maybe not. But come on, I'm sitting through a telethon to see him, although this is one of the more bearable ones because it doesn't involve Jerry Lewis.) But anyway, Casey scores the goals, and the majority of the assists are from Ryan. But it was weird to hear all these boys talk about the Powells. "Look at him! Casey's number 1, look at him. Look at that! Oh, look at that! He's awesome!" In addition, both teams are made up of players from programs from across my part of New York--Syracuse, Hobart, Nazareth, Cornell, even Ithaca players fill the rosters of both teams. I didn't really realize what Rochester had in the sport of lacrosse until that moment. These boys may be striving to play for the Rochester Rattlers or the Knighthawks someday. It's weird--after years of being told that my city is nothing, here was something that my city was tops at.
Well, maybe.
The final score was Rochester 19, Boston 21, and the Rattlers fell to 1-2 on the season so far. The Cannons are 3-0, and they stayed on top by avoiding penalties, something that the Rattlers just couldn't do. It was basically back and forth for the majority of the first two quarters, until the Cannons pulled away in the third and went up by 6. Rochester attempted to make a comeback and got to 19, but the Rattlers got another penalty called, giving the ball back to the Cannons with a few seconds remaining, sealing the deal. If the Rattlers could only have played a little cleaner, they would of been able to pull out the win. But the Cannons aren't too shabby of a team, and should contend for the rest of the season because they seem to work extremely well as a team.
There's just one little thing about lacrosse--you can't see the ball. I don't care that the MLL made their official ball bright orange so "the fans can better follow the action" (per the program)--you still can't follow it. It's worse than a hockey puck on a 13 inch television. So here's my suggestion for the future of lacrosse--a light up ball. Come on, that can't be too hard to do. And if you want to get really wild, here's another crazy idea: so have a light up ball, but have like three balls in play at one time, and have only one light up at any given time and only that ball can score a goal. But the balls are constantly changing, so you have to play all of them, because you don't know which one is going to light up at any given time. It would be CRAZY!!!
Isn't that like the best idea in the history of ideas?!
No?
You can't even indulge me on that one?
Does anyone even get what I'm talking about?
Fine.
And in another interesting note on the MLL, the league is owned by the "Body by Jake" guy. So in case you ever wondered what happened to him and his infomercials, that's what happened to him. He's "innovating" the sport of lacrosse by changing the ball color to orange instead of yelling at you from the TV to get in shape.
All in all, it was an enjoyable time and well worth the $10 of my meager grad student budget. I was home by 9:35, made myself some dinner, and watched the Lightning force a game 7 in the Stanley Cup playoffs, which I'm sad and happy about. Happy because it means one more game of hockey until who knows when, but sad because I really really want the Flames to win.
Man, I just realized how Canadian I sound. I spent a Saturday night watching lacrosse and hockey, eh. And yes, I had pop. But really, Saturday night is my favourite night of the week.
On to less Canadian things:
-So I'm watching arena football right now, and as it started, I was talking to my mom, who was too watching NBC. We had been watching gymnastics while talking on the phone (even though I was switching back and forth between the previously mentioned telethon and gymnastics), and then that ended and arena football began. My mom says to me, "Hey, I know this guy."
"What guy?"
"This Graziani guy. I've seen him before. He played in the NFL."
Mind you, Tony Graziani (now quarterback for the LA Avengers of the AFL) hasn't played in the NFL in years. But my mother remembered him all the same. This is how much my family was into football in the mid-late 1990s--even my mom recognizes obscure second-string quarterbacks for the Falcons. If you ever wonder why such a girly girl like me knows this much about sports, there's the reason. (Never mind the fact that my mother force fed the Olympics to me like most mothers force fed their children brussel sprouts.)
And on this note, on June 15, ESPN is announcing where auditions are going to be for the second season of Dream Job. I'm guessing that Boston will be one of the places they hit. And with that comes the inevitable throng of my friends telling me that I should audition. Let me tell you, with the events of the past week, it is very tempting to say screw grad school and cast my fate to the whim of ESPN producers. However, I will not. Despite people saying I have pretty good communication skills (whenever I got interviewed on TV or radio in college, people always said I sounded good), I still am not the best speaker in the world. I stumble over certain words, despite practicing them over and over, and exteramperously, I struggle sometimes. And really, I don't know enough about sports. I mean, me and the NBA just don't get along. So there is no way I'd make it past the initial round. I'd be a great story, and I'd be a great token female, but I don't think I'd make it. But trust me, I'd love to audition and get through to the final rounds, win, get a job on Sportscenter, be paired up with the wicked hot Dream Job Mike and then he'd fall in love with me, we'd get married and then, like, there we'd probably have some kind of reality show about us.
Sigh.
A girl can dream, can't she?
Hmm...but wait. Those auditions could have hot guys. And some of them would have to be single...
Maybe I'll think about it.
-Yeah, I just realized why John Elway is not a commentator anywhere. "I just think that, uh, the difference, uh, was uh..." and he looks just absolutely thrilled to be interviewed. "John, how does this compare to your playoff days?" "Yeah, I love the arena football league and uh..."
-So for those of you who don't know, my apartment got a cat last Monday, and I spoil her like she's my first born child. The amount of pictures I've taken of her since she got here rivals the amount I took of my brother as a toddler. Her name is Annie, and she's eight weeks old. She's got the best qualities of my family's three cats (we're not crazy cat people--we only had one until two different relatives gave us their cats to "watch" and never took them back)--the cuteness and ditziness of Tabitha, the talkativeness of Xander, and the desire to eat people food like Muffin (I warn you now, I didn't name any of them)--all in cute little tiny kitty format. Plus she sits in the living room and watches sports with me! (And just sports--she didn't like it when I watched "Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?" on Style earlier.) I didn't name her (my apartmentmates did) but the more I think of it, it's kind of fitting: all the girls in my family have the middle name Ann, and I've always intended on keeping on the family name if and when I have daughters, and when I was little, one of my ambitions was to be in the musical Annie (which is a problem when you're tone deaf.) So it works. And she's adorable. And it's so nice to have a pet around again. I never considered myself a pet person, but with Lucky my fish and now with Annie, I've realized that I kind of am. Actually, I'm just motherly in general, with all the good and bad that comes with that.
I'll post the pictures somewhere once I get them developed, which will be in the next few weeks. I still have to finish the roll. Annnnnnnnniiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee, come heeeerrrrrreeee, I have 6 pictures to burn on this roll...
-CD recommendation of the week: Avril Lavigne's new CD. So hurt me. It's good. Listen to "My Happy Ending." Man, I didn't know a 19 year old Canadian could be so bitter. I never really liked Alanis Morrisette because I was way too young when she was big, she swore too much, she complained too much about guys (like, honey, guys aren't everything, and really, maybe you were some of the problem in those relationships) and sometimes I just like my music stupid. So Avril Lavigne corrects all those problems I had with Alanis Morrisette and puts it in an easily digestible format.
-This entry is a rare example of Part 2 being far better than Part 1.
Off to act as a high school guidance counselor and go pick out colleges and arrange visits for my sister! My mom is like frantic. My sister just wants to go to Ithaca. Neither understands that you can't put all your eggs in one basket.
(or Kat Goes to a Lacrosse Game...Alone)
"Put your hands together and let's support your hometown team!!!"
Okay, I will, Boston Cannons announcer guy. But I don't think you really want me to cheer for my hometown team, because my hometown isn't Boston.
And thus is the dilemma I faced while attending the Rochester Rattlers-Boston Cannons Major League Lacrosse game at Boston U's Nickerson Field on Saturday night. I decided Saturday morning to go to the game, seeing that it would fulfill both my need to see live sports and my homesickness. For those of you not up on your Western NY sports, lacrosse is huge in Rochester and Syracuse. Rochester has two major league lacrosse teams (indoor and outdoor, and their new soccer stadium will be also the best stadium for outdoor lacrosse in the country), and Syracuse University is like the Yankees of college lacrosse. So lacrosse is a mildly sized deal there, further proving that we are just Canadians who took a few too many steps south.
However, despite my father and I always making empty promises that "this is the year" we're going to go take in a Knighthawks (indoor) or Rattlers (outdoor) game, I had never been to one. (In case you haven't noticed, my father and I say we're going to do a lot of things that we don't get to do. However, next year's trip to the Pro Football Hall of Fame is set in stone, and has been for years. Well, provided Steve Young gets inducted in his first year of eligibility.) So I decided I would go and make it my first official professional sports experience of my time in Boston (It took almost 3 weeks for my first Boston sports experience. This is saddening.). At $10 a ticket, it's probably the most affordable Boston professional sports experience I'll have. And yes, I went alone (hence the sub-title of this entry).
I'll warn you now--don't attend a Cannons game if you find 7-15 year old boys annoying. Out of the announced attendance of 5,308, about 5,000 had to be 7-15 year old lacrosse stick wielding boys. I happen to have lived with and be related to a 7-15 year old boy (albeit he'd rather play Yug-i-oh then lacrosse), so I don't find them annoying. If you know that age, they refuse to sit still, and these boys were no exception. Up, down, around, all over, all the time. But they were excited to see the Powell brothers (Casey and Ryan), who both play for the Rattlers, so I don't blame them. The Powell brothers are like the Young and Rice of lacrosse--they may not play for your team, but if you're into that sport, and get the chance to see them, you have to see them to have said you've seen them playing together. (There has to be a better analogy, but I'm currently watching Steve Young butcher a teleprompter on the Children's Miracle Network telethon, so it's the first one that popped into my head. Swoon, drool, sighhhhhhh. The man gets better with age. Okay, maybe not. But come on, I'm sitting through a telethon to see him, although this is one of the more bearable ones because it doesn't involve Jerry Lewis.) But anyway, Casey scores the goals, and the majority of the assists are from Ryan. But it was weird to hear all these boys talk about the Powells. "Look at him! Casey's number 1, look at him. Look at that! Oh, look at that! He's awesome!" In addition, both teams are made up of players from programs from across my part of New York--Syracuse, Hobart, Nazareth, Cornell, even Ithaca players fill the rosters of both teams. I didn't really realize what Rochester had in the sport of lacrosse until that moment. These boys may be striving to play for the Rochester Rattlers or the Knighthawks someday. It's weird--after years of being told that my city is nothing, here was something that my city was tops at.
Well, maybe.
The final score was Rochester 19, Boston 21, and the Rattlers fell to 1-2 on the season so far. The Cannons are 3-0, and they stayed on top by avoiding penalties, something that the Rattlers just couldn't do. It was basically back and forth for the majority of the first two quarters, until the Cannons pulled away in the third and went up by 6. Rochester attempted to make a comeback and got to 19, but the Rattlers got another penalty called, giving the ball back to the Cannons with a few seconds remaining, sealing the deal. If the Rattlers could only have played a little cleaner, they would of been able to pull out the win. But the Cannons aren't too shabby of a team, and should contend for the rest of the season because they seem to work extremely well as a team.
There's just one little thing about lacrosse--you can't see the ball. I don't care that the MLL made their official ball bright orange so "the fans can better follow the action" (per the program)--you still can't follow it. It's worse than a hockey puck on a 13 inch television. So here's my suggestion for the future of lacrosse--a light up ball. Come on, that can't be too hard to do. And if you want to get really wild, here's another crazy idea: so have a light up ball, but have like three balls in play at one time, and have only one light up at any given time and only that ball can score a goal. But the balls are constantly changing, so you have to play all of them, because you don't know which one is going to light up at any given time. It would be CRAZY!!!
Isn't that like the best idea in the history of ideas?!
No?
You can't even indulge me on that one?
Does anyone even get what I'm talking about?
Fine.
And in another interesting note on the MLL, the league is owned by the "Body by Jake" guy. So in case you ever wondered what happened to him and his infomercials, that's what happened to him. He's "innovating" the sport of lacrosse by changing the ball color to orange instead of yelling at you from the TV to get in shape.
All in all, it was an enjoyable time and well worth the $10 of my meager grad student budget. I was home by 9:35, made myself some dinner, and watched the Lightning force a game 7 in the Stanley Cup playoffs, which I'm sad and happy about. Happy because it means one more game of hockey until who knows when, but sad because I really really want the Flames to win.
Man, I just realized how Canadian I sound. I spent a Saturday night watching lacrosse and hockey, eh. And yes, I had pop. But really, Saturday night is my favourite night of the week.
On to less Canadian things:
-So I'm watching arena football right now, and as it started, I was talking to my mom, who was too watching NBC. We had been watching gymnastics while talking on the phone (even though I was switching back and forth between the previously mentioned telethon and gymnastics), and then that ended and arena football began. My mom says to me, "Hey, I know this guy."
"What guy?"
"This Graziani guy. I've seen him before. He played in the NFL."
Mind you, Tony Graziani (now quarterback for the LA Avengers of the AFL) hasn't played in the NFL in years. But my mother remembered him all the same. This is how much my family was into football in the mid-late 1990s--even my mom recognizes obscure second-string quarterbacks for the Falcons. If you ever wonder why such a girly girl like me knows this much about sports, there's the reason. (Never mind the fact that my mother force fed the Olympics to me like most mothers force fed their children brussel sprouts.)
And on this note, on June 15, ESPN is announcing where auditions are going to be for the second season of Dream Job. I'm guessing that Boston will be one of the places they hit. And with that comes the inevitable throng of my friends telling me that I should audition. Let me tell you, with the events of the past week, it is very tempting to say screw grad school and cast my fate to the whim of ESPN producers. However, I will not. Despite people saying I have pretty good communication skills (whenever I got interviewed on TV or radio in college, people always said I sounded good), I still am not the best speaker in the world. I stumble over certain words, despite practicing them over and over, and exteramperously, I struggle sometimes. And really, I don't know enough about sports. I mean, me and the NBA just don't get along. So there is no way I'd make it past the initial round. I'd be a great story, and I'd be a great token female, but I don't think I'd make it. But trust me, I'd love to audition and get through to the final rounds, win, get a job on Sportscenter, be paired up with the wicked hot Dream Job Mike and then he'd fall in love with me, we'd get married and then, like, there we'd probably have some kind of reality show about us.
Sigh.
A girl can dream, can't she?
Hmm...but wait. Those auditions could have hot guys. And some of them would have to be single...
Maybe I'll think about it.
-Yeah, I just realized why John Elway is not a commentator anywhere. "I just think that, uh, the difference, uh, was uh..." and he looks just absolutely thrilled to be interviewed. "John, how does this compare to your playoff days?" "Yeah, I love the arena football league and uh..."
-So for those of you who don't know, my apartment got a cat last Monday, and I spoil her like she's my first born child. The amount of pictures I've taken of her since she got here rivals the amount I took of my brother as a toddler. Her name is Annie, and she's eight weeks old. She's got the best qualities of my family's three cats (we're not crazy cat people--we only had one until two different relatives gave us their cats to "watch" and never took them back)--the cuteness and ditziness of Tabitha, the talkativeness of Xander, and the desire to eat people food like Muffin (I warn you now, I didn't name any of them)--all in cute little tiny kitty format. Plus she sits in the living room and watches sports with me! (And just sports--she didn't like it when I watched "Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?" on Style earlier.) I didn't name her (my apartmentmates did) but the more I think of it, it's kind of fitting: all the girls in my family have the middle name Ann, and I've always intended on keeping on the family name if and when I have daughters, and when I was little, one of my ambitions was to be in the musical Annie (which is a problem when you're tone deaf.) So it works. And she's adorable. And it's so nice to have a pet around again. I never considered myself a pet person, but with Lucky my fish and now with Annie, I've realized that I kind of am. Actually, I'm just motherly in general, with all the good and bad that comes with that.
I'll post the pictures somewhere once I get them developed, which will be in the next few weeks. I still have to finish the roll. Annnnnnnnniiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee, come heeeerrrrrreeee, I have 6 pictures to burn on this roll...
-CD recommendation of the week: Avril Lavigne's new CD. So hurt me. It's good. Listen to "My Happy Ending." Man, I didn't know a 19 year old Canadian could be so bitter. I never really liked Alanis Morrisette because I was way too young when she was big, she swore too much, she complained too much about guys (like, honey, guys aren't everything, and really, maybe you were some of the problem in those relationships) and sometimes I just like my music stupid. So Avril Lavigne corrects all those problems I had with Alanis Morrisette and puts it in an easily digestible format.
-This entry is a rare example of Part 2 being far better than Part 1.
Off to act as a high school guidance counselor and go pick out colleges and arrange visits for my sister! My mom is like frantic. My sister just wants to go to Ithaca. Neither understands that you can't put all your eggs in one basket.
Friday, June 04, 2004
A Rochestarian in Boston
When I first moved to Binghamton back in 2002, I called my father and said, "Dad, this place is the retirement home for old Chevy Luminas," the car my family had recently gotten rid of. Well, if Binghamton was home to early 90s Luminas, Boston is the retirement home of old Volvos. If Boston has an official city car, it has to be the Volvo, with any Volkswagen not too far behind. I mean, I even saw a Volvo limousine today while walking on campus. After being told repeatedly that it is "crazy" to drive and own a car in Boston, there are so many cars that it makes me wonder if Bostonians take their own advice, or if they just don't want another car added to their commute.
However, as I was thinking that, I witnessed first hand the curse that is owning a car in Boston. Thursday afternoon, my apartment-mates and I ran over to a store in Coolidge Corner (an area of shops). On our way out of the store, we were walking up to Amanda's car only to find another car was hitting it right at that moment. Trying to create a parking spot of his own, a man had his rear bumper pretty much on top of hers. Luckily and remarkably, there was no dent or scratch, but the man wasn't too pleased when he got out of his car and Amanda called him on it.
While I think I'd rather drive in Boston than in New York City, I would overall rather leave the driving to the T drivers, and put up with the occasional messed-up service (like Wednesday's temporary storm-related shut-down of the B line as I was trying to make my way to gymnastics) and more-often-than-not overcrowded cars.
But as the days go by, I'm learning to appreciate places like Binghamton and Rochester. Especially Rochester, which I now appreciate in an entirely different light, with it's big city qualities (museums, great restaurants, mildly big sporting and music events, good shopping) within an easy to get around structure and small neighborhoods. I mean, even Binghamton is livable if you have a car that can get you to Syracuse every once and a while and if you take your time and find the not-too-townie populated places. However, I advocate the "you should live in one big city once in your life if you have the chance" mantra. How will I know where I want to live if I don't try out everything? And that idea is what has kept me from applying to three jobs back at home that I've found. I didn't give up my friends and family to stay in Boston for just a month. No matter how lonely I may get in Boston, I have to make it through the year. I owe it to myself.
So I'll make it through the year here, but who knows if I'll make it in one piece, as evidenced by what happened in gymnastics this week. Now, I might of mentioned that my mother expressed deep worry when I told her that I was taking gymnastics this summer. "Katie, you do realize you never quite got that shoulder thing fixed, don't you?"
"Yeah, Mom, but that was years ago."
"Honey, that was three years ago."
"Yeah, exactly. Three years ago. It hasn't given me problems in a long time."
"If it's not your shoulder, it'll be something else. Think about it. You're kind of accident-prone."
"Third time's a charm, Mom. I'll be fine. It's only a few weeks anyway."
Fast forward to Thursday night's conversation, which I dreaded, but figured I had to have.
"How are you?" my mom asked.
"Well...uh...I have a headache. But it's a really funny story!"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know how I take gymnastics?"
"Yes, Katie."
"Well...it's really funny if you think about it. I got kicked in the head while spotting a back walkover."
"That's why you have a headache?"
"Well, then five minutes after that I was doing a back walkover and my bad shoulder gave out and I landed straight on my head."
"What do you mean your shoulder gave out?"
"Well, it was sore the other times, but this time it hurt a lot..."
Needless to say, my mom wants me to drop the class. But I'm fine now. Really. (Takes another dose of Advil.) I mean, if I ice my shoulder and don't do much with it, I don't feel a thing. And trust me, after this, I'll never do gymnastics again. I mean, I'm getting kind of old. I'm 22. I need to stop trying to fulfill my dreams of childhood. Just after I learn how to do a few more things on the beam...
Speaking of gymnastics, I think two of the girls in my class are engaged. (They had diamond solitaries on their ring fingers that they didn't take off for class. Safety hazard?) Couple that with the endless amounts of couples that walk down the street or make their way on the T, take the fact that I'm the only single girl in my apartment, and take the fact that the theme of 2004 thus far seems to be "people I know getting married," and I'm beginning to think that I'm the last remaining unattached person on earth.
Of course this isn't true (4 of the 6 Hunter 115 girls were single), but it's reached a point that I know more attached (dating on up) people than unattached. That's never happened before. However, I once heard someone say that right after you graduate from college, a wave of your friends will get married, and for a good two years, you'll be invited to more weddings and recognizing more names in the wedding announcements than you ever thought you would. And then it just stops. Three to five years down the road, you go through the other wave of friends and their marriages (or in some cases, the same friends with their second marriages). You either get married at 22-24, or you get married at 27-30. Now, I don't know how true that is, but I'm thinking that sounds about right. And because I'm a crazy overachieving workaholic, I'll be in that latter group, which is fine with me, because with this much educational debt, I'm not very attractive wife material. And because of the whole crazy overachieving part, it's kind of hard for me to meet guys and keep them around anyway. So let me work myself out of the crazy overachieving-ness, and then maybe I can join the droves of ya'll heading for the chapel. Plus, I'm still looking for the twin of Tom Brady, so like, I can't get married till I find him. So yeah...(Tom Brady doesn't have a twin that I know of, but if he did, watch out!)
Now if you don't mind me, it is off to drown the sorrow of the Red Sox's fourth straight loss with a movie and full-flavoured pop (I'm taking a night off the diet pop, because every once and a while you have to remind yourself what the real thing tastes like.)
When I first moved to Binghamton back in 2002, I called my father and said, "Dad, this place is the retirement home for old Chevy Luminas," the car my family had recently gotten rid of. Well, if Binghamton was home to early 90s Luminas, Boston is the retirement home of old Volvos. If Boston has an official city car, it has to be the Volvo, with any Volkswagen not too far behind. I mean, I even saw a Volvo limousine today while walking on campus. After being told repeatedly that it is "crazy" to drive and own a car in Boston, there are so many cars that it makes me wonder if Bostonians take their own advice, or if they just don't want another car added to their commute.
However, as I was thinking that, I witnessed first hand the curse that is owning a car in Boston. Thursday afternoon, my apartment-mates and I ran over to a store in Coolidge Corner (an area of shops). On our way out of the store, we were walking up to Amanda's car only to find another car was hitting it right at that moment. Trying to create a parking spot of his own, a man had his rear bumper pretty much on top of hers. Luckily and remarkably, there was no dent or scratch, but the man wasn't too pleased when he got out of his car and Amanda called him on it.
While I think I'd rather drive in Boston than in New York City, I would overall rather leave the driving to the T drivers, and put up with the occasional messed-up service (like Wednesday's temporary storm-related shut-down of the B line as I was trying to make my way to gymnastics) and more-often-than-not overcrowded cars.
But as the days go by, I'm learning to appreciate places like Binghamton and Rochester. Especially Rochester, which I now appreciate in an entirely different light, with it's big city qualities (museums, great restaurants, mildly big sporting and music events, good shopping) within an easy to get around structure and small neighborhoods. I mean, even Binghamton is livable if you have a car that can get you to Syracuse every once and a while and if you take your time and find the not-too-townie populated places. However, I advocate the "you should live in one big city once in your life if you have the chance" mantra. How will I know where I want to live if I don't try out everything? And that idea is what has kept me from applying to three jobs back at home that I've found. I didn't give up my friends and family to stay in Boston for just a month. No matter how lonely I may get in Boston, I have to make it through the year. I owe it to myself.
So I'll make it through the year here, but who knows if I'll make it in one piece, as evidenced by what happened in gymnastics this week. Now, I might of mentioned that my mother expressed deep worry when I told her that I was taking gymnastics this summer. "Katie, you do realize you never quite got that shoulder thing fixed, don't you?"
"Yeah, Mom, but that was years ago."
"Honey, that was three years ago."
"Yeah, exactly. Three years ago. It hasn't given me problems in a long time."
"If it's not your shoulder, it'll be something else. Think about it. You're kind of accident-prone."
"Third time's a charm, Mom. I'll be fine. It's only a few weeks anyway."
Fast forward to Thursday night's conversation, which I dreaded, but figured I had to have.
"How are you?" my mom asked.
"Well...uh...I have a headache. But it's a really funny story!"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know how I take gymnastics?"
"Yes, Katie."
"Well...it's really funny if you think about it. I got kicked in the head while spotting a back walkover."
"That's why you have a headache?"
"Well, then five minutes after that I was doing a back walkover and my bad shoulder gave out and I landed straight on my head."
"What do you mean your shoulder gave out?"
"Well, it was sore the other times, but this time it hurt a lot..."
Needless to say, my mom wants me to drop the class. But I'm fine now. Really. (Takes another dose of Advil.) I mean, if I ice my shoulder and don't do much with it, I don't feel a thing. And trust me, after this, I'll never do gymnastics again. I mean, I'm getting kind of old. I'm 22. I need to stop trying to fulfill my dreams of childhood. Just after I learn how to do a few more things on the beam...
Speaking of gymnastics, I think two of the girls in my class are engaged. (They had diamond solitaries on their ring fingers that they didn't take off for class. Safety hazard?) Couple that with the endless amounts of couples that walk down the street or make their way on the T, take the fact that I'm the only single girl in my apartment, and take the fact that the theme of 2004 thus far seems to be "people I know getting married," and I'm beginning to think that I'm the last remaining unattached person on earth.
Of course this isn't true (4 of the 6 Hunter 115 girls were single), but it's reached a point that I know more attached (dating on up) people than unattached. That's never happened before. However, I once heard someone say that right after you graduate from college, a wave of your friends will get married, and for a good two years, you'll be invited to more weddings and recognizing more names in the wedding announcements than you ever thought you would. And then it just stops. Three to five years down the road, you go through the other wave of friends and their marriages (or in some cases, the same friends with their second marriages). You either get married at 22-24, or you get married at 27-30. Now, I don't know how true that is, but I'm thinking that sounds about right. And because I'm a crazy overachieving workaholic, I'll be in that latter group, which is fine with me, because with this much educational debt, I'm not very attractive wife material. And because of the whole crazy overachieving part, it's kind of hard for me to meet guys and keep them around anyway. So let me work myself out of the crazy overachieving-ness, and then maybe I can join the droves of ya'll heading for the chapel. Plus, I'm still looking for the twin of Tom Brady, so like, I can't get married till I find him. So yeah...(Tom Brady doesn't have a twin that I know of, but if he did, watch out!)
Now if you don't mind me, it is off to drown the sorrow of the Red Sox's fourth straight loss with a movie and full-flavoured pop (I'm taking a night off the diet pop, because every once and a while you have to remind yourself what the real thing tastes like.)
