You know that song, don't you? It's the one that Judy Garland sings in 'Meet me in St. Louis' after meeting Mr. hot stuff love interest on the other side of the hedge. He's sweet, charming, well-groomed, and a bit awkward. And of course, all ends well and they sail happily into the sunset on the trolley.
This story is not about that guy. This story is about the new guy who moved into the 3rd floor attic apartment while I was in Italy. I don't know what his first name is, I've never seen his face, but after yesterday, I already know so much about him.
You know that guy, that guy who used to cruise down Gause Blvd in Slidell with his windows ultra tinted and DMX rattling their highly mirrored reflections? That guy who bought a Honda Civic and then had it tricked out with an exhaust pipe the size of a blender and fuschia pinstriping and neon lights? That guy who spent his life savings at Mobil One Auto Sound so he could get the subwoofers that wake the dead and make the living wish they were? The guy who has actually seen all of the 'Fast & Furious' movies and probably paid full nighttime price for them?
Yes dear friends, this story is about THAT guy. I think he used to own a Pontiac Sunfire. Something relatively benign that didn't sound like the apocalypse when it left the driveway, it was black and inoffensive, and looked like your typical city-mobile. Good gas mileage, small enough to fit in a metro parking space. That is not the vehicle that is currently parked in the driveway. The other day, husband and I came home and saw a very silly vehicle parked in front of the house. It was champagne colored, with the engine intake thing on the hood and the big raised spoiler on the back, the kind of car that you usually see doing circles in the K-mart parking lot after dark. We giggled and pointed, and assumed it was someone visiting Mr. Special on the 3rd floor. But oh no, Mr. Special came home that night IN the aforementioned contraption, went upstairs and came back down with his digital camera and took pictures of it and, when asked by my husband if it was his, he said that he had decided to "treat" himself by trading in his old and boring car for this new and exciting one.
Now let me say that when I was ten, my dad came home with a sports car. It was a 1990 Nissan 240SX and it was cherry red and stick shift and boy did I love driving that car. It got fantastic gas mileage and was by far, the most reliable thing in our driveway at the time, next to perhaps, the lawnmower. I have nothing against people who purchase vanity vehicles. I have nothing against people who take pictures of their vanity vehicles. (Sidebar - the guy who lived across the street from us when I was a kid had a red Corvette that he would occasionally park on the lawn in front of the flood lights and take pictures of it. Interesting.) But when Mr. Man comes home at 11pm and spends fifteen minutes revving the engine IN THE DRIVEWAY just so he can feel the pleasure of the vibration, I have to suppress a giggle.
We are a Honda family now, my mom with her Accord and my dad with his Civic and me with my Civic. And while I would still love to drive a baby blue convertible Beetle, I am perfectly content with my sweet little girl out in the driveway, keeping company with what used to be something made by Subaru but is now an unfortunately altered piece of machinery that sounds like a cross between a leaf blower and my Cuisinart with delusions of grandeur. The car, that is. Not my Cuisinart.
May your mileage be high and your emissions low. Why isn't there a 'What not to drive" show?
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Things to do when the power goes out
1. take a nap - if you can, napping is the best way to ignore the power outage. It will come back on eventually.
2. get in the car and go to the grocery store - at least they have a/c. Try to avoid purchasing everything in the frozen food section.
3. take dog for a walk - this is a fine idea, but you eventually have to return to your domicile, in hopes that the power is back on. If it's not, then you're hot and sweaty with a hot and sweaty dog.
4. power down your laptop. If you don't, it will die and then your last connection to the world will be lost and you will have to resort to smoke signals and/or paper airplanes.
5. make fans out of leftover paper like you did in 4th grade. One for each hand is preferable.
6. go down to the basement with the excuse of "seeing if the switch needs to be flipped." most of the time, the switch is not the problem, but the basement is a solid 15 degrees cooler than the house. In your industriousness, do NOT do laundry as the heat from the dryer will negate the 15 degree advantage.
7. drive to the shore and drink blueberry beer with your piano teacher.
And which of these are we doing tonight my friends? We're picking Lucky Number Seven and going to see Dr. Lois Leventhal, the wonderful woman to whom this blog is dedicated and by whom it was inspired. Lolo is waiting for us with a fridge full of cold Wachusett Blueberry Beer* and once the sun sets, we're going to cook some butter chicken and eat it on the porch. Because it's really the only civilized thing one can do.
*Before I catch flak from my beer drinking friends, I want to say that I was very skeptical about the blueberry beer. I'm not a person who conventionally enjoys the fruity beer - sticking an orange in my Blue Moon is really about as close as I'll get. Even Turbodog and Purple Haze are a little much for me. But I tell you, my true believer friends, the Wachusett Blueberry Beer is nothing to scoff at. It is seriously tasty and in no way resembles a wine cooler or anything you would be heckled for drinking at a football game by a self-respecting redneck.
Ta ta for now, I'm going to expire in the next room.
2. get in the car and go to the grocery store - at least they have a/c. Try to avoid purchasing everything in the frozen food section.
3. take dog for a walk - this is a fine idea, but you eventually have to return to your domicile, in hopes that the power is back on. If it's not, then you're hot and sweaty with a hot and sweaty dog.
4. power down your laptop. If you don't, it will die and then your last connection to the world will be lost and you will have to resort to smoke signals and/or paper airplanes.
5. make fans out of leftover paper like you did in 4th grade. One for each hand is preferable.
6. go down to the basement with the excuse of "seeing if the switch needs to be flipped." most of the time, the switch is not the problem, but the basement is a solid 15 degrees cooler than the house. In your industriousness, do NOT do laundry as the heat from the dryer will negate the 15 degree advantage.
7. drive to the shore and drink blueberry beer with your piano teacher.
And which of these are we doing tonight my friends? We're picking Lucky Number Seven and going to see Dr. Lois Leventhal, the wonderful woman to whom this blog is dedicated and by whom it was inspired. Lolo is waiting for us with a fridge full of cold Wachusett Blueberry Beer* and once the sun sets, we're going to cook some butter chicken and eat it on the porch. Because it's really the only civilized thing one can do.
*Before I catch flak from my beer drinking friends, I want to say that I was very skeptical about the blueberry beer. I'm not a person who conventionally enjoys the fruity beer - sticking an orange in my Blue Moon is really about as close as I'll get. Even Turbodog and Purple Haze are a little much for me. But I tell you, my true believer friends, the Wachusett Blueberry Beer is nothing to scoff at. It is seriously tasty and in no way resembles a wine cooler or anything you would be heckled for drinking at a football game by a self-respecting redneck.
Ta ta for now, I'm going to expire in the next room.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
GK
GK, short for Garrison Keillor. This is what they call him in the movie, 'A Prairie Home Companion,' which I saw last night at our local West Newton theatre. Let me preface this post by saying that I love all things kitch, and nothing tickles me more than a good turn of phrase. This is why I have love in my heart for GK.
If you're not a fan of the radio show, don't bother going to see the movie because you won't get it, and you'll wonder what happened over the last two hours or so and who are all those people up there singing? And why is Lindsey Lohan in this movie? - most of us wonder why she was in the movie to begin with, but I have a theory: she was there to provide a reference point of pop culture amid the sea of eloquence and poetry. Boy can that girl NOT sing. - But if you are a fan of the radio show, get thee to a theatre, shell out the cash, and be prepared for the sweet sounds of Prudence Johnson and some unexpectedly good singing from Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin who are HI-larious as the two singing sisters who are past their prime.
On a completely separate topic, husband and I are staying in the house here in Newton. It was tempting to pick up and move to the other apartment, the apartment with new siding and new windows going in and gas heat, but truly, even in my most poisonous moments, I wouldn't wish a move in the summer on anyone. Especially when we're going through this ridiculous heat wave thing. Now y'all know that I'm no stranger to heat or humidity, but when Boston gets above 90 and the only place that has air conditioning is the Stop & Shop and the mall, there's something seriously wrong. I'm tempted to go sit in Borders for the afternoon, just so I don't sweat while sitting still. I wonder if they serve iced tea....
Two more weeks till Germany - must go and refresh my verb conjugations and adjective endings. Blech. If you feel a breeze, tell it to come visit me, will you?
If you're not a fan of the radio show, don't bother going to see the movie because you won't get it, and you'll wonder what happened over the last two hours or so and who are all those people up there singing? And why is Lindsey Lohan in this movie? - most of us wonder why she was in the movie to begin with, but I have a theory: she was there to provide a reference point of pop culture amid the sea of eloquence and poetry. Boy can that girl NOT sing. - But if you are a fan of the radio show, get thee to a theatre, shell out the cash, and be prepared for the sweet sounds of Prudence Johnson and some unexpectedly good singing from Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin who are HI-larious as the two singing sisters who are past their prime.
On a completely separate topic, husband and I are staying in the house here in Newton. It was tempting to pick up and move to the other apartment, the apartment with new siding and new windows going in and gas heat, but truly, even in my most poisonous moments, I wouldn't wish a move in the summer on anyone. Especially when we're going through this ridiculous heat wave thing. Now y'all know that I'm no stranger to heat or humidity, but when Boston gets above 90 and the only place that has air conditioning is the Stop & Shop and the mall, there's something seriously wrong. I'm tempted to go sit in Borders for the afternoon, just so I don't sweat while sitting still. I wonder if they serve iced tea....
Two more weeks till Germany - must go and refresh my verb conjugations and adjective endings. Blech. If you feel a breeze, tell it to come visit me, will you?
Monday, July 31, 2006
The Old Apartment
I'm listening to this song by the Barenaked Ladies and thinking about all of the domiciles that I have called mine, for any period of time. Let's take that trip down memory lane, shall we?
1987-2002: The house on Lake Village Blvd. What a great house. Blue with white columns, the hedges in the back that we used to run through and pretend we were winning the marathon. The finished attic with the staircase and the patched hole in the garage ceiling where my dad put his foot through. So many memories in that house - birthday parties, dinners with boyfriends meeting the folks, Miss Jean telling the boys to just put one more piece in the puzzle - what a shrewd one she was - and then inviting half the neighborhood in for sweet tea. Breakups, confrontations, and infinite mischief. That's the house that will always be home.
1995-1997: Lived in the girls' dorm at LSMSA. Caddo was not what one would call the dream experience. I had a series of roommates starting with Randee who wore sequined thong underwear and hung it everywhere around the room, Ginger who would go through my drawers and hand over my journal to the ex-girlfriend of my boyfriend, Joni the cowgirl who was ultra cool but then went home, and finally, Amy the neurotic overachiever who was so pissed that I got the same score on the ACT as she did. Not a terrible two years, only got suspended once (in-house suspension and yes, the Icee was totally worth it) and managed to escape relatively unscathed.
1997-98: Elam Arms dorm at USM. Co-ed honors dorm with a pool in the middle that everyone was afraid to swim in. Cafeteria downstairs with fried chicken on Fridays and a television that always seemed to be playing 'A Baby Story' on TLC. Frightening. Lived with Catherine, the sweet girl from the BSU who played old skool Nintendo and listened to Steve Miller Band, the only real downside of this relationship was coming home from late rehearsals and finding large study groups on my bed. Security in the building was lax, spent many hours watching pointless television and learning to play Mortal Kombat in Alex's room on the boys' side of the building.
Summer 1998: Prudhomme Hall at ADVANCE. Lived with Sheralyn (by the way Sher, the pictures are gorgeous!), possibly the nicest girl I have ever known, who put up with my shenannigans. And all I could think about was, "During the year, this dorm is filled with 150+ teenage boys. Should I carry Lysol with me everywhere? Am I going to get the plague from this doorknob?"
1998-99: Mississippi Hall at USM. All girls dorm, three-room suites with separate entrances and a common room. I remember very fondly living at the front of the building so people could knock on my window from the front porch. Lived with Stephanie, a senior photojournalist whose boyfriend lived off campus. Ostensibly lived alone for the first half of the year. Stephanie moved out, and Selena moved in. Selena was the college roommate I never knew I always wanted. She was messy, she wore my clothes, she brought home chinese food at 2am, and she might have been the best roommate ever. We actually named the invisible monster under her bed (Herman) and while we never saw him, it was pretty obvious that something was living under all that crap. Selena drove the "Flaming Honda" which featured prominently into our late-night drives that involved getting vanilla cokes from Sonic and singing very loudly with the radio. The only person I've ever lived with where the mess really didn't matter to me at all.
1999-2000: Margaret Newman dorm at University of Victoria (BC). A spacious room that I shared with a girl named Ung. I think I saw her four times. Hall bathrooms, next door neighbor named Jess who was fabulous. Boys floor was downstairs, much to my chagrin. Had the unfortunate experience of witnessing my downstairs neighbors' saturday morning "festivity" on my way to breakfast. For crying out loud, just shut the door! No one wants to see your hiney in the air, especially before they've had any coffee!
2000-01: Mississippi Hall at USM, again. Ended up with an invisible roommate again, never actually saw her face. She left me a note on day 1 that said, "have to keep an on-campus address, if you need to get in touch with me, here's my phone number." Shared the 3-room suite with officers of the BSU who frequently left reading material in the loo that I'm pretty sure was directed toward me. I think it was because I kept beer in my fridge. Catherine from freshman year was in the third room, oddly enough. Still didn't approve of the boyfriends, still wouldn't say anything, just throw disapproving looks. I remember pulling my boyfriend into the room, slamming the door and turning on Carmina Burana really loudly while we ate dinner, just so I could relish the shocked looks we would get when we emerged. In retrospect, I'm sure they thought they were trying to save me from myself, but it was just too much fun to let them think I was up to no good.
2001-02: James Owen Court on Sidwell Street, University of Exeter. One very small room with a very small bed, desk, and bathroom. The kind of bathroom where you have to shut the door in order to open the shower door, and you have to shut the shower door and the bathroom door in order to get to the toilet. And it took me three days to figure out that I had to turn on the water heater. Claustrophobic but charming. Shared this flat with seven other people: three women from China, two guys from Turkey, a girl from Libya and one other American. The kitchen was a hodgepodge of Chinese cooking, Turkish coffee, and whatever we got from the take-aways across the street. My MA in Musicology was made possible by Paradise Tandoori's Butter Chicken recipe.
2002: First real apartment in Hattiesburg. Oh Foxgate. How I loved my little one-bedroom apartment. No real furniture to speak of, just me and my bed and my piano. A false fireplace and no noisy neighbors and a little patio where I would sit and read. It was a short-lived affair, I hate to say. Broke the lease early to move in with best friend at the time, who ausgeflipped shortly thereafter. In my heart, I still pine for Foxgate.
2003: Duplex on Hunter Lane in Hattiesburg. Possibly the best apartment ever. Middle of nowhere, cows and horses out back, lots of space for the dog to run, and a front porch on which I could put my porch swing. Lived at Hunter Lane for nine months of bliss. Ceiling fans and walk-in closets and a kitchen big enough for ballroom dancing. Not to mention the company of my fellow grad students right across the street. Never a dull moment, not when there's a West Wing marathon on Memorial Day and there are two crock pots between two houses. Minor snafu involving two mice, two women who were too afraid to use inhumane traps, and the Baptist church down the road. Sometimes it's best to just ignore the mice and go about your life.
Summer of 2004: Lived for two months with the Roberts women. It was sort of like a neverending girl movie. Lots of toenail painting, hair fanging, late-night movie watching, and plenty of good old fashioned Southern cooking. Can we say fried okra?
I miss bunking with the girls, my little sisters Marge and Katie, and the houseful of dogs with Penny and Sam chasing each other around the deck. But since then, it's been life with boyfriend/fiancee/now husband and the dog. We're looking at a new apartment tonight and I'm not sure what to think. It's waaaay less expensive than where we live right now, but it's not close to husband's work, and there is no T stop nearby, just commuter rail, so our transportation options would be limited. But to save $350 a month, off the bat, just by moving across town? Who knows....we'll see what transpires tonight when we see the place.
I hate moving almost as much as I hate people who sing flat. But sometimes, you just have to deal. Let's hope this is an easy 'yes or no' decision and we can go on with our lives. In the meantime, a big yell of victory over to Ace and his fantastic parents. He'll be camping and hiking (but he'll be doing it with someone other than Stacey and myself) but most of all, he'll be sleeping at home with his momma and daddy in no time flat!
1987-2002: The house on Lake Village Blvd. What a great house. Blue with white columns, the hedges in the back that we used to run through and pretend we were winning the marathon. The finished attic with the staircase and the patched hole in the garage ceiling where my dad put his foot through. So many memories in that house - birthday parties, dinners with boyfriends meeting the folks, Miss Jean telling the boys to just put one more piece in the puzzle - what a shrewd one she was - and then inviting half the neighborhood in for sweet tea. Breakups, confrontations, and infinite mischief. That's the house that will always be home.
1995-1997: Lived in the girls' dorm at LSMSA. Caddo was not what one would call the dream experience. I had a series of roommates starting with Randee who wore sequined thong underwear and hung it everywhere around the room, Ginger who would go through my drawers and hand over my journal to the ex-girlfriend of my boyfriend, Joni the cowgirl who was ultra cool but then went home, and finally, Amy the neurotic overachiever who was so pissed that I got the same score on the ACT as she did. Not a terrible two years, only got suspended once (in-house suspension and yes, the Icee was totally worth it) and managed to escape relatively unscathed.
1997-98: Elam Arms dorm at USM. Co-ed honors dorm with a pool in the middle that everyone was afraid to swim in. Cafeteria downstairs with fried chicken on Fridays and a television that always seemed to be playing 'A Baby Story' on TLC. Frightening. Lived with Catherine, the sweet girl from the BSU who played old skool Nintendo and listened to Steve Miller Band, the only real downside of this relationship was coming home from late rehearsals and finding large study groups on my bed. Security in the building was lax, spent many hours watching pointless television and learning to play Mortal Kombat in Alex's room on the boys' side of the building.
Summer 1998: Prudhomme Hall at ADVANCE. Lived with Sheralyn (by the way Sher, the pictures are gorgeous!), possibly the nicest girl I have ever known, who put up with my shenannigans. And all I could think about was, "During the year, this dorm is filled with 150+ teenage boys. Should I carry Lysol with me everywhere? Am I going to get the plague from this doorknob?"
1998-99: Mississippi Hall at USM. All girls dorm, three-room suites with separate entrances and a common room. I remember very fondly living at the front of the building so people could knock on my window from the front porch. Lived with Stephanie, a senior photojournalist whose boyfriend lived off campus. Ostensibly lived alone for the first half of the year. Stephanie moved out, and Selena moved in. Selena was the college roommate I never knew I always wanted. She was messy, she wore my clothes, she brought home chinese food at 2am, and she might have been the best roommate ever. We actually named the invisible monster under her bed (Herman) and while we never saw him, it was pretty obvious that something was living under all that crap. Selena drove the "Flaming Honda" which featured prominently into our late-night drives that involved getting vanilla cokes from Sonic and singing very loudly with the radio. The only person I've ever lived with where the mess really didn't matter to me at all.
1999-2000: Margaret Newman dorm at University of Victoria (BC). A spacious room that I shared with a girl named Ung. I think I saw her four times. Hall bathrooms, next door neighbor named Jess who was fabulous. Boys floor was downstairs, much to my chagrin. Had the unfortunate experience of witnessing my downstairs neighbors' saturday morning "festivity" on my way to breakfast. For crying out loud, just shut the door! No one wants to see your hiney in the air, especially before they've had any coffee!
2000-01: Mississippi Hall at USM, again. Ended up with an invisible roommate again, never actually saw her face. She left me a note on day 1 that said, "have to keep an on-campus address, if you need to get in touch with me, here's my phone number." Shared the 3-room suite with officers of the BSU who frequently left reading material in the loo that I'm pretty sure was directed toward me. I think it was because I kept beer in my fridge. Catherine from freshman year was in the third room, oddly enough. Still didn't approve of the boyfriends, still wouldn't say anything, just throw disapproving looks. I remember pulling my boyfriend into the room, slamming the door and turning on Carmina Burana really loudly while we ate dinner, just so I could relish the shocked looks we would get when we emerged. In retrospect, I'm sure they thought they were trying to save me from myself, but it was just too much fun to let them think I was up to no good.
2001-02: James Owen Court on Sidwell Street, University of Exeter. One very small room with a very small bed, desk, and bathroom. The kind of bathroom where you have to shut the door in order to open the shower door, and you have to shut the shower door and the bathroom door in order to get to the toilet. And it took me three days to figure out that I had to turn on the water heater. Claustrophobic but charming. Shared this flat with seven other people: three women from China, two guys from Turkey, a girl from Libya and one other American. The kitchen was a hodgepodge of Chinese cooking, Turkish coffee, and whatever we got from the take-aways across the street. My MA in Musicology was made possible by Paradise Tandoori's Butter Chicken recipe.
2002: First real apartment in Hattiesburg. Oh Foxgate. How I loved my little one-bedroom apartment. No real furniture to speak of, just me and my bed and my piano. A false fireplace and no noisy neighbors and a little patio where I would sit and read. It was a short-lived affair, I hate to say. Broke the lease early to move in with best friend at the time, who ausgeflipped shortly thereafter. In my heart, I still pine for Foxgate.
2003: Duplex on Hunter Lane in Hattiesburg. Possibly the best apartment ever. Middle of nowhere, cows and horses out back, lots of space for the dog to run, and a front porch on which I could put my porch swing. Lived at Hunter Lane for nine months of bliss. Ceiling fans and walk-in closets and a kitchen big enough for ballroom dancing. Not to mention the company of my fellow grad students right across the street. Never a dull moment, not when there's a West Wing marathon on Memorial Day and there are two crock pots between two houses. Minor snafu involving two mice, two women who were too afraid to use inhumane traps, and the Baptist church down the road. Sometimes it's best to just ignore the mice and go about your life.
Summer of 2004: Lived for two months with the Roberts women. It was sort of like a neverending girl movie. Lots of toenail painting, hair fanging, late-night movie watching, and plenty of good old fashioned Southern cooking. Can we say fried okra?
I miss bunking with the girls, my little sisters Marge and Katie, and the houseful of dogs with Penny and Sam chasing each other around the deck. But since then, it's been life with boyfriend/fiancee/now husband and the dog. We're looking at a new apartment tonight and I'm not sure what to think. It's waaaay less expensive than where we live right now, but it's not close to husband's work, and there is no T stop nearby, just commuter rail, so our transportation options would be limited. But to save $350 a month, off the bat, just by moving across town? Who knows....we'll see what transpires tonight when we see the place.
I hate moving almost as much as I hate people who sing flat. But sometimes, you just have to deal. Let's hope this is an easy 'yes or no' decision and we can go on with our lives. In the meantime, a big yell of victory over to Ace and his fantastic parents. He'll be camping and hiking (but he'll be doing it with someone other than Stacey and myself) but most of all, he'll be sleeping at home with his momma and daddy in no time flat!
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