Goodbye 2007

& good riddance!

I can’t explain how happy I am to see the year come to a close. It feels like it was a waste—like it was everything 22 shouldn’t be. I felt like I stalled all year, like I forgot how to listen to myself.

2008 will be different. It’s a fresh start, and one I plan on taking advantage of. This year I have but one resolution: Take better care of me.

This means five things:

1. I will eat better.
2. I will exercise more.
3. I will work less.
4. I will play more.
5. I will listen to my gut.

It won’t be easy, but I’m feeling hopeful:

1. I’m counting how many fruits and vegetables I eat every day, and I bought a new bottle of vitamins (that currently sits next to last year’s barely used bottle on my desk).


2. I’ve researched several dance classes in the area (Wouldn’t that be fun?!) and confirmed that I am still a member of some crappy gym in Downtown Crossing.


3. I told my boss last week, “Don’t plan on seeing me in the office after 6:30pm.” I have things to do that are not work related, and I plan on doing them… with ample time to catch the train home.


4. D.C. in January. Photography class in February. Vieques in March. I’m in pursuit of the things I like doing.


5. It used to be the thing I was best at; somehow other people’s voices have gotten in the way. So don’t be offended, but I’m not listening anymore. Stop telling me what’s right, wrong, smart and stupid. I’ll trust myself from now on.

Ligers

FYI: Ligers are real animals, not just a sketch in Napoleon Dynamite of a creature bred for its skills with magic. They are, in fact, a cross between a lion and a tiger... not to be confused with a tigon, which is a cross between a tiger and a lioness.

But they are not yet a species, as they cannot reproduce. This—from what my scientist friends tell me—happens through speciation, the evolutionary process by which new biological species arise.

If you are reading this post and it makes sense to you, you need to drink more.

Coming to a Close

The year is coming to a close, and I’m feeling like a failure.

I promised to write and write often. I haven’t. (Obviously.) This is mostly because life has been so crazy and so stressful that I’d sound more miserable than I actually am. (I am forever the optimist.)


I had several other goals for 2007. Let’s review the 2006 resolutions:

• Keep a regular blog. (Again.)
• Get something in the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today OR the Washington Post.
• Volunteer. And do something good for humanity.
• Write the first draft of my first book.
• Take a photography class.
• Learn French. Seriously.
• Visit some place totally new (in addition to France).
• Meet a boy... that I will actually date.
• Go to the gym (at least more than I currently do — which is once every six months… or so).
• Cut my credit card debt in half.

I reviewed my status in June:

Those that I had failed:

• Take a photography class.
• Learn French. Seriously.
• Cut my credit card debt in half.
• Visit some place totally new (in addition to France).
• Write the first draft of my first book.
• Volunteer. And do something good for humanity.
• Go to the gym (at least more than I currently do — which is once every six months… or so).

Those that still had potential:

• Get something in the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and/or The Washington Post.
• Meet a boy... that I will actually date.
• Keep a regular blog. Again.

None had been fulfilled.

So where do I stand today?

• Keep a regular blog. (Again.) — I wrote more this year than in 2006. I just can’t promise that it was all interesting or any good.
• Get something in the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today OR the Washington Post. — Pitching all four at the moment. Outlook not so good.
• Volunteer. And do something good for humanity. — After several evening with the BPLF, and a few meetings with a refugee from Somalia, I can say I did something. But my best volunteer work came through Strong Women, Strong Girls, and 2008 will mean more of that.
• Write the first draft of my first book. — You need time to read books, forget write them.
• Take a photography class. — Failed.
• Learn French. Seriously. — Regressed.
• Visit some place totally new (in addition to France). — Didn’t even make it France.
• Meet a boy... that I will actually date. — Met many, dated several, liked none.
• Go to the gym (at least more than I currently do — which is once every six months… or so). — Had my ups & downs.
• Cut my credit card debt in half. — Back down to where it was in Dec. 2006.

Will I accomplish any of these things in the next four days? Probably not. So I suppose these resolutions will carry through to next year, too.

You know you're crazy...

...if you travel to Maine in the middle of winter.

I finally caved into my Australian friend’s wishes to visit mid-coast Maine’s boat building facilities. I tried to warn him how cold, miserable, and isolated it would be. I had no idea it could also be beautiful…

See — I guess this ain’t so bad!

Urban Ice

It's moments like these when I love Boston... even if it's winter.

There's just something special about ice skating in the middle of downtown!

After Date 4

It’s just not fair anymore.

He likes me so much, and there’s just nothing there. There should be butterflies, right?

He said, “I missed you! It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve last seen you. I think about you all the time.” Words girls would kill to hear. And I quivered. I hadn’t thought of him much at all… In fact, in the month we’ve been “dating” (Do five kisses qualify as dating?), he’s been on the far back burner. If there was something there, wouldn’t I make it matter more?

We planned Date 6. So I called to cancel and said, “My life is too crazy, and it’s not fair to you. You’re a great guy; this just isn’t the right time. Have a great vacation, and—if you’d like—call me when you get back.” He won’t call.

It makes me think of Hitch:

Basic Principles: No woman wakes up saying "God, I hope I don't get swept off my feet today!" Now, she might say "This is a really bad time for me," or something like "I just need some space," or my personal favorite "I'm really into my career right now." You believe that? Neither does she. You know why? 'Cause she's lying to you, that's why. You understand me? Lying! It's not a bad time for her. She doesn't need any space. And she may be into her career, but what she's really saying is "Uh, get away from me now," or possibly "Try harder, stupid," but which one is it? 60% of all human communication is nonverbal, body language; 30% is your tone, so that means 90% of what you're saying ain't coming out of your mouth. Of course she's going to lie to you! She's a nice person! She doesn't want to hurt your feelings! What else she going to say? She doesn't even know you... yet. Luckily, the fact is that just like the rest of us, even a beautiful woman doesn't know what she wants until she sees it.

He’s most right with the last line. While I may not know what I want, I do know what I don’t want. That’s what leads to the “This is a really bad time for me,” the “I just need some space,” and the “I'm really into my career right now.”

Except I mean those things, and I’m ok with it.

Date 3

This time he said:

“I get the feeling that you might wake up one day and move to France and I’d never see you again.”

I gave him my mischievous smile.

If only he knew...

Icky.

I am so sick. SO SICK. Somebody send me chicken soup?

GGGRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes I have these panic attacks.

At first, they fill me with anger. I get so frustrated — so upset — I can hardly think straight; I just want to scream into a pillow, take up boxing, or poignantly argue with the influencers in my life so clearly they’ll loose their words and I can walk away proud that I have disarmed them, that they’re unable to argue back. These are the moments I want to take on the whole f---in' world.

So the anger turns into inspiration. I feel remarkably qualified but totally unfocused. I can do anything if only someone somewhere would point me in the right direction. For the love of God, isn't there someone, anyone, out there hearing me holler into the storm? I feel like I should pick up a job at one of the most prestigious consulting firms just because I can — because in my mind I'm totally qualified — and just for the skills I would gain. Suddenly, I’m frantically seeking that job: Is it at McKinsey? That lobbying firm in DC? Where? When? How? Then I realize all these openings require a master's degree or an Ivy League education and tons of contacts. While I pretend to have the latter two prerequisites, I find myself exactly where I started: poor and in pursuit of grad school, relying on patience I simply don't have.

Sigh.

I think I get angry because people are always judging me — for better or worse. They think they know exactly what I am, so have these incredible expectations. But they’re so often wrong. They see me as the capable employee who loves working 60 hour weeks. I'm reliable—infallible—professionally. I'm the reckless free spirit who makes dramatic and life-changing decisions on a whim that end up turning out well only because of remarkable luck and good fortune. I'm the naïve little girl who believes people are inherently good and not manipulative or misleading. I'm the one who will save the world, or at least leave a mark. I'm too independent and self-assured to want to be dependent on a man or to have a family. I'm the friend who falls through time and time again because I'm so easily distracted. While I’d love to be many of these things, I don’t think I’m any of them.

I am a young professional who's eager to learn but being broken. I'm quite thoughtful and do a whole lot of work, but I’m tired, and I do subscribe to the whole “No one said on their deathbed that they wished they spent more time in the office.” Believe it or not, I do think before I make a move; I'm a calculated risk taker. I know what people are really after. I'm really quite ordinary. I believe in hopelessly romantic love; I want a partner in crime and babies of my own. I have too much on my plate, but behind my thick skin is a loyalty unlike any other: friends and loved ones are all that matter; it’s the relationships one has that make life interesting. I may not let a lot of people in, but once you’re in, you're in.

I am screaming right now. It's just all this pent up frustration makes me want to vent in the way that flows most naturally for me — writing. My head hurts I'm gritting my teeth so hard. Don't you hear me?! Probably not; you're reading this and rolling your eyes at the little whiney girl you see me as. Suddenly I understand how the psychoanalysts preach that everyone feels misunderstood. I have The Animals on repeat in my brain.

My grandfather this weekend defined happiness as "bien dans la peau" — confident and content in your own skin. I am that. I know who I am and I'm happy with it... If only it were that simple. From time to time even the happiest people break under the perceptions and expectations imposed upon them by the valued influencers in their life. Sometimes those expectations are the pushes — the confidence boosters — needed to do something extraordinary. Sometimes they’re the straw that breaks the camel’s back. One of these days I will fall in one of those directions. I will take on the world, or I will break.

Until that day comes, I’ll just scream into the pillow.

Date 2

Tonight we talked about Bostonians, a conversation I have more and more. This is the theory: (At the risk of sounding stereotypical, just know I’m assuming there are many, many exceptions.)

People from all over think we’re hard, cold, judgmental. And we are. But we’re also loving, passionate, and loyal… if you just give it time.

You can move to LA or the Midwest and find people who immediately befriend you. They’ll be nice to your face, and you’ll laugh and have lots of fun. However, it will be shallower, limited.

Here in Boston, we believe in something deeper, tougher. It may take time to break in, to find your friends and insert yourself into a social circle, but once you do, you’re in it for life. We offer friendships that are real. We’re sincere. We love people. We just need time.

Who, me?

Tonight I had a date with a boy that I might even like. Halfway through, he said:

“You have such a mischievous smile.”

Hah. You don’t know the half of it.

What do you know?!

I hate that CSNY song: “Love the One Your With”.

If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one your with.

That’s crap. Or at least it certainly ain’t love.

My Schoolgirl Crush

It’s been a long time since the mere sight of a man gave me butterflies. But he does. In fact, the thought of him alone is enough to make me sigh dreamily. Writing this makes me giddy.

I have a crush.

I eyed him long ago. Handsome. Mysterious. Important. I figured he was arrogant or – given the lack of wedding ring – gay, because in my mind a man like that couldn’t possibly be single. I made a weak attempt to engage him and when it was unsuccessful, I deemed him unapproachable. I gave up. At the time, I had no idea what I was missing. For better or worse, now I do.

To be honest, I think he hooked me long before I ever set eyes on him. I knew where he came from and took the bait. With an international background and a wanderer on the path I’d love to take, I knew he’d be interesting. I just never thought he’d be so much fun. And that laugh! He has a great laugh.

Was it his intelligence and ambition that sealed the deal? His good looks and charm? Was it his smile, his ability to have fun? Or was it the respect he demanded in every circumstance, his ability to shine in the limelight, his grace in crisis situations?

Truthfully, it was all of this and more. He is the well-mannered bachelor who sails. He’s the guy who swims at midnight, dances when no one else will, and recounts entertaining stories when everyone else is out of words. He seeds discussion and extracts ideas. He belives in chilvary and tradition. He is kind to everybody.

I think it struck me when the homeless man suddenly and forcefully overwhelmed us, begging for change. In a graceful movement and calm voice, he handled the situation. Before there was time to panic, I knew I was safe. It was then that I realized how charismatically he can take charge -- he’s just one of those natural leaders.

And I, uncharacteristically, would follow.

Pirates!

I wish it weren’t so. They were bad people, and they still are. Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. Bad, bad people.

Yet, like aviation, I just can’t help myself. I’m secretly fascinated with pirates.

Even recently as the U.S. Navy helps fight pirates from Somalia, I found myself sucked in so deeply I spent hours researching the story. I also watched a Discovery Channel special on The Money Pit, one of the greatest pirate mysteries… the X on the map, if you will.

Why is this so interesting? It’s the mystery, sure. But I think it’s also my obsession with freedom. Pirates, even though they don’t go about it in even a remotely respectable or decent way, are completely free. They do whatever they want and live day-by-day. They have their rankings and jobs, their comrades and their boat – their vessel to wherever – and that’s it. Obligation-free. No one holds them responsible, accountable.

That’s something even the most respectable person can desire.

Coconut Grove

It’s beautiful. It’s charming. It’s wonderful to walk around in a bikini and flip-flops in 85º heat. But I’ll never come back here again. In Coconut Grove, the streets are lined with pastel-colored shops, next year’s summer fashion, and neatly trimmed tropical trees. There’s just nothing to do.
I came for a conference. I played on South Beach. After an exhausting three days, I’m finally exploring the area, desperately seeking entertainment beyond window-shopping. Part of the problem is that I’m used to Boston, Paris and even San Francisco – all walkable cities. Coconut Grove – and Miami in general – is not very walkable. The main source of amusement – the beach – is a 20-minute cab ride away, and the only other water is the dirty inlet filled with boats. I suppose if I had the time and money, it’d be fun to practice sailing.

I started at the Mayfair, a mall that has since been transformed into an oasis of a hotel. The rooms are gorgeous; the service sucks. All the fancy bathrooms and flat-screen TVs can’t overcome the musty smell, dodgy wireless, lousy staff response or $30 charge for the Jacuzzi. For the first time, I was disappointed with a Kimpton Hotel.


I’m now at the Mutiny Hotel, which is a combination of condos and hotel rooms. I’m not going to lie: I chose it as much for its name (What can I say? I have a thing for pirates!) as for its deceptive seaside location. It’s nothing special, has a mediocre restaurant and includes a small but accessible pool. The rooms come complete with kitchenette, balcony with table and chairs, and a couch worthy of lounging on to watch crappy TV films. (Hell, I needed a taste of Star Wars and Tomb Raider to relax.)

Upon leaving the hotel, you’re engulfed by heat. The breeze is refreshing and required to combat the suffocating humidity. I’m impressed by the green in this area and took a moment to walk through the tiny but lush Barnacle Park.

The open space and neon lawn just wasn’t enough to satisfy me; I sought something else, something to do. Finally I asked a local.

“There’s plenty to do around here,” the man replied enthusiastically, while the guy beside him grimaced. I was skeptical.

“Like what?”

“Like clubbing, partying, dancing, you know.” The man beside him nodded confidently. I rolled my eyes.

“How about at 11 in the morning?”

“Oh,” he responded, surprised by the question. “Like now? There’s nothing.”

Figures.

I’m being overly critical though: Coconut Grove is not all bad. For one thing, it’s dog-friendly. Pooches are invited into all shops and most restaurants. I love that; it reminds me of France. I’m now sitting on a lovely patio beside a couple with a dog, content to people watch and write. The restaurant is called Jaguar, which a fellow conference-goer said was fantastic. It is. Starting with the crisped pita and bananas served with spicy dipping sauce and throughout the Latin-inspired menu, the food is absolutely delicious. I’m sure my meal will finish with the fresh fruit sorbet combo – likely peach, passion fruit and mango… or should I try strawberry? I’m actually trying civiche for the first time… complimented by a gentle glass of sauvignon blanc.

Who said 11:30am was too early to start drinking?

South Beach

I’m in Miami for business, which certainly doesn’t mean there isn’t time for play.

Tonight, for example, was all about fun. The first time I set foot out of the hotel was to board the bus to the Bass Museum. Taking the highway past mansions on the waterfront, you realize the wealth of this area, contradicting the cheesiness but complimenting the focus on fashion. The museum even furthered my perception of Miami as culturelessly superficial: It was an underwhelming and random collection of quality art -- contemporary American photographs, Baroque pieces and modern Afro-American works. Only two pieces in the small museum stood out for me: a modern piece about immigration and culture called Umbilical Cord, and a photograph of a couple kissing. (I am, after all, a hopeless romantic.)

After the museum we found our way to Books & Books, another attempt at culture in this Plastic City. Books & Books is an independent bookstore that’s expanded to include a restaurant. Sitting outside, the warmth broken only occasionally by a cool breeze, we ate a delicious light fair and held a stimulating discussion that yielded fresh ideas. Aw, the power of youth and wine!

We walked along Lincoln Road to Base, one of those remarkably trendy stores that relishes in its chicness. I thought of St. Tropez – exorbitantly overpriced for peculiar products some strange mind deemed cool. (Of course, I’m no fashion expert… preferring sundresses and flip-flops to pretty much anything else…)

The best came after ice cream when we walked along the shores of South Beach. Night had fallen, so the tourists and Plastic had long since melted away to saturate the superficial clubs of Ocean Drive. (When we walked along that strip later, I was reminded of Venice Beach except with more men with snakes – and I mean that literally. They strolled down the sidewalk with boa constrictors around their necks and arms like fashion accessories.) The weather and water were just right to get our feet wet and, for better or worse, a little bit more than we anticipated. Had there not been riptide and sharks, we would have gone swimming.

We ended up at The Shore Club, one of those chic Miami clubs you'd only find here. Beds surrounded the pool; the beautiful people lounged around with fancy and extraordinarily priced drinks. Sick of work and pretense, we smoke cigarettes indoors and danced the night away. We had fun.

As I prepare for bed, it strikes me that this is what Miami is really about: Fun. It’s dancing and drinking, clubbing and swimming, looking good and not talking. After days of draining our minds, it was exactly what we needed.

I just have to sound smart and look rested in four hours when it's back to work...

The Loss of the Pen

I have a thing about pens. I inherited it, you see.

This one was stolen from a hotel. But it was my favorite for a whole year, and I cherished it deeply. It lived with my favorite notebook – also stolen, but from my boss. Both are nothing fancy – a $5 notebook from Borders, a cheap clicky blue ballpoint pen from the Hotel Monaco. But they were a pair, and the pen was particularly special.

The right weight. A smooth exterior. A soothing color. The ink and pressure were perfect, and with it my words leapt from my mind and ran down my arm, exploding out my fingertips to dance across the pages in front of me. This is a tragedy. A loss. If I were a singer, I’d say my microphone was stolen. A guitarist, my pick. A public speaker, my podium. But I love to write, and the pen was my vehicle.

Worst of all, I know exactly where my pen is. I lent it to a fellow conference-goer so he could write his information down for me. Seeing as this is a professional engagement and it’s expected that I bring home business, I may have realized my mistake but my hands are bound. It’s hardly appropriate for me to march up to this gentleman – this potential buyer – and say, “Hey pal, you have my pen. Give it back.” So my lips are sealed, my heart broken. It is for me – a woman used to doing whatever she wants – a remarkable test of self-control.

Of course, thankfully, my mind works in mysterious ways. There are always loopholes -- alternative paths – to achieve your goal. Someday, I’ll have my pen back. You'll see.

A Little Nudge

Everyone should have someone like this in their lives.

I lunched with one of those people who always leaves me thinking. Every time we have a conversation, I leave remarkably excited to do something, to change the world. And I feel like I actually can.

I guess I’m always excited to do something (something big), to write, to tell stories, to share my enthusiasm for Life. It’s just sometimes the mediocrity of it all, the day-to-day grind, the Rat Race sucks me in and swallows me whole. I doubt I'm alone. It's easy to become so concerned with what’s in front of you that the future becomes the forest through the trees.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m all about living in the moment... It's just also important to dream about what’s next. For me, I can't think any other way: It’s a byproduct of my impatience and tendency to get bored easily, which – despite the negative connotations commonly associated with “boredom” and “impatience” – I don’t think are bad characteristics. They make you do things.

So does support. Confidence in you from those that you respect and admire enables you to do the extraordinary. I believe that if there are enough people in your life that believe someday you’ll be included in TIME’s top 100 influencers, you will. I thank those of you who believe in me.


But what can I say? Sometimes we all need a little nudge!

After the Wedding

You know you had a good time at the wedding when you have a bruise on your chin from resting it so hard on the toilet bowl.

You know your brother’s become your best friend when he was the one holding your hair back.

Fighter

B’s not looking so good. Black eye, swollen lip, bloody bruises on (both) his chin(s). He’ll tell you he got into a fight with some Sox fans – the trust is far less exciting. Because it is so, I’ll keep his secret for him… at least for the purpose of this story.

Jess’s rehearsal dinner was tonight. Following the beautiful practice ceremony (can’t wait for the real thing!), the party and families were to drive to a nearby restaurant to get the real party started. I traveled with my parents but, not being the driver, made it to the restaurant’s doorway where some folks were smoking before my father had even got out of the car.

As B emerged, the valet said something – or did something – and was giving him a hard time.

I’m not sure it was a commotion, but it was noticeable. So noticeable, in fact, that the burly man smoking beside me gave me a nudge and said, “Wow, what a fool that valet is. I wouldn’t mess with that guy – look at his face!”

Gulp. “Yea,” I said after a long pause. “That’s my dad.”

The (RED) Campaign

For example:

THE (RED) MANIFESTO

• All things being equal, they are not.


• As first world consumers, we have tremendous power. What we collectively choose to buy, or not to buy, can change the course of life and history on this planet.


• (RED) is that simple an idea. And that powerful. Now, you have a choice. There are (RED) credit cards, (RED) phones, (RED) shoes, (RED) fashion brands. And no, this does not mean they are all red in color. Although some are.


• If you buy a (RED) product or sign up for a (RED) service, at no cost to you, a (RED) company will give some of its profits to buy and distribute anti-retroviral medicine to our brothers and sisters dying of AIDS in Africa.


• We believe that when consumers are offered this choice, and the products meet their needs, they will choose (RED). And when they choose (RED) over non-(RED), then more brands will choose to become (RED) because it will make good business sense to do so. And more lives will be saved.


• (RED) is not a charity. It is simply a business model. You buy (RED) stuff, we get the money, buy the pills and distribute them. They take the pills, stay alive, and continue to take care of their families and contribute socially and economically in their communities.


• If they don’t get the pills, they die. We don’t want them to die. We want to give them the pills. And we can. And you can. And it’s easy.
  
• All you have to do is upgrade your choice.

For more about the (RED) campaign, click here.

To do something (RED), click here.

Sick Day

I feel like crap. Absolute CRAP.

(I don’t do sick well.)

Confined to my bed for yet another day, I feared I’d go crazy. Pops was kind enough to take my sad self on a quick run to Wal-Mart to stock up on DVDs. I knew exactly what I wanted.

Just two things:
1.) Digitally remastered Indiana Jones trilogy
2.) Digitally remastered Star Wars trilogy

At the check out, the lady said to me: “Let me guess, one’s for your father and one’s for your brother.”

My pale face blushed a bit. “Well, actually, no. They’re – “

“Oh – two nephews? How sweet! The boys love these. Birthday gifts, right?”

It seemed useless to argue. “Yep. Twin boys.”


So I’ll spend my day watching late 70s boy-movies and loving every second of it. Whatever.

9/11/07

Today is a hard day.

It weighs on you like an iron composed solely of grief, of tragedy.

Like everyone else, I remember exactly what I was wearing that day. I remember the friends I mourned with — some of whom are no longer with us, their lives also cut short since the Attacks.

Like everyone else, I feel the magnitude of the loss each anniversary. The attacks gave Americans a sense of scale by which we now measure degree of grief and impact; never before had my generation witnessed a national tragedy of such scale. Yet the more I learn about the world, the more I realize the extent of emergency in faced every day elsewhere, and if the scale created while witnessing the 9/11 is true, I feel compelled to do something. Anything.

For example, today I ironically found myself reading about September 11, 2001 in Jeffrey Sach's book, and this is the point that resonated most:

"Almost three thousand people died needlessly and tragically at the World Trade Center on September 11; ten thousand Africans die needlessly and tragically every single day—and have died every single day since September 11—of AIDS, TB, and malaria."

Certainly makes you understand the need for urgent action... Especially since ''the ten thousand daily deaths are preventable.''

Lost from the Skies

Ok. I have a secret fascination with aviation, including — maybe especially — aviation disappearances.

Today Steven Fossett was reported missing. Of course you hope he’s ok, but deep down, when planes go missing, you know there’s little hope. Already reports of wreckage are flooding news outlets. What went wrong? What kind of a person was he? You have to assume every pilot is a free spirit, an adventurer, the type who's so full of life. It’s sad — tragic, really.

It piques my interest in other morbid (but famous) disappearances, like Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (who may or may not have slept with my great-grandmother on occasion…), whose mysterious disappearance in 1944 intrigued generations until his crashed plane was discovered 60 years later. But there's still so much left unknown.

Of course, you can’t think about aviation mysteries without thinking of Amelia Earhart. Is her plane on the bottom of the ocean? Was she captured and killed by the Japanese? Or did she and Noonan land safely, lost on some uninhabited island, and survive for a while afterwards? I once read a novel that provided a fiery illustration of the last scenario. More and more, some parts of it seem to be true.

I say this because of the fascinating — albeit completely circumstantial — discoveries by TIGHAR, a non-profit aviation archaeological organization, in Nikumaroro, the island some believe Amelia inhabited after her crash. I had heard of their discoveries before, and — in light of today’s tragic news — was eager for them to launch another exploration. (Who doesn’t want to know the fate of Amelia Earhart?) I took a glance at their website and was pleasantly surprised.

They just returned from a second exhibition to Nikumaroro, and the mystery continues to unfold.


(Also — TIGHAR offers interesting insight into l’Oiseau Blanc, the plane lost in France’s attempt to complete a non-stop transatlantic flight between New York City and Paris... the plane that altered aviation history!)

Another One

::sigh::

Today I found my second gray hair.

Worst Pick Up Line Ever

So I was walking down the street in a cute, brightly colored sundress and high heels. I didn’t think much of it; to be honest, I’m not sure I had any make up on yet.

All of a sudden, I hear someone screaming.

"Hey – you dropped something!"

Shit. I’m always doing that! I’m so clumsy and careless and irresponsible. Thank God there are nice people who let me know I’m about to lose something forever. I began to scour the sidewalk.

Then he said something again.

I couldn’t hear him, so I shot the man in the truck a puzzled look, and began searching the sidewalk even harder.

He shouted again, but the humming of engines drowned out his voice once more. If only I could hear what he was saying! Maybe he saw what I dropped – or where – so I could narrow my search. It did sound like he was describing the soon-to-be-lost object…

This time he was practically hanging out his window: "It was my jaw!"

Oh, please. I didn't think men actually said those horrific things? I rolled my eyes.

As if I didn't hear it the first time, he screamed the punch line again, beaming with pride. I walked away.

Lame.

CARE/SEAD

This is what CARE does that interests me most:

CARE's SEAD programs improve the economic security and income opportunities for impoverished people by promoting sound money-making activities and building strong financial institutions. Currently, CARE has 131 SEAD projects in 39 countries providing approximately 800,000 people, 90 percent of them women, with the assistance they need to increase their incomes and make their futures more secure.

Of the world's 500 million micro- and small-business owners, less than 2 percent have access to financial services and business training vital for the success of their businesses. CARE's micro- and small-enterprise programs work hard to ensure that poor people around the globe have access to the solid financial and business training tools and resources they need to help them rise out of poverty. These include access to financial services, such as savings and credit, and business development services, such as training in marketing and accounting. CARE also provides staff training, loan capitol and other resources to encourage institutional development of local organizations.

Socially Responsible Investing
Small loans help poor families start or expand income-generating businesses. But people in the developing world often lack access to this kind of microfinance. Now, through CARE?s partnership with MircoVest, investors can integrate their financial goals with their personal efforts to help families overcome poverty. (Learn how to bring hope and opportunity through investment.)

Every day, CARE works with communities to achieve lasting victories over poverty. Click here to read one of our solutions stories.
For more on CARE's SEAD programs click here.

CARE has SEAD programs in the following personally interesting places:

Kenya

Rwanda

Tanzania

Uganda

Benin

Ghana

Mali

Madagascar

Mozambique

Namibia

Niger

Togo

Zambia

Zimbabwe

A Warning?

I'm not usually one to read my horoscope, but now that I'm addicted to iGoogle, it's right in front of me every morning.

Today's, in my mind, is a bit ominious...

You might truly think that you have enough stamina to conquer the world. Although this may be a wonderful fantasy, don't try it or you'll quickly find yourself overextended. You can take on new projects with gusto now, but think about where you are going first, instead of just jumping right in. It's much smarter to head off in the right direction than to scatter your unrestrained enthusiasm all over the map.

My kind of quote:

"If you think you're too small to make a difference, you've obviously never been in bed with a mosquito."
--Michelle Walker

Into the Fall...

Somehow, sometime, when none of us were looking, it turned to fall in New England. Dog days replaced by a flurry of activity, humid air ousted by a cool breeze, smoldering temperatures reduced to comfortable.

And I have officially switched back to hot coffee.

ONE/The GROWTH Act

From the ONE campaign:

TAKE ACTION

Find your Members of Congress by Zip Code

Call your Member of Congress: U.S. Capitol Switchboard 202-224-3121

Schedule a lobby visit (Targets are the House Foreign Affairs Committee Members)

Write a Letter to the Editor of your local newspapers.

TALKING POINTS
GLOBAL RESOURCES AND OPPORTUNITIES FOR WOMEN TO THRIVE

Background:

Investing in women is one of the surest routes to ending poverty in the developing world.

Despite the key role women play in developing countries, women tend to work in the lowest paid sectors, work longer hours, have less access to training and education, and have fewer economic opportunities than men.

Decades of research show that when women get more resources, they put their money towards making sure their children have better nutrition, education and health care.

Expanding economic opportunity for women also decreases women’s vulnerability to HIV/AIDS and gender-based violence.

About the Bill:

The GROWTH Act will provide solid, realistic steps to expand options for poor women by securing jobs, accessing credit and starting new businesses.

Promotes women’s ability to start and grow businesses through continued support for women’s enterprises after the initial microcredit loan, so their businesses will grow and employ other women.

Enhances women’s land and property rights so they can use their assets as collateral for loans.

Increases women’s access to better employment and improve wages and working conditions for jobs dominated by women by increasing women’s skills and informing them of their legal rights in the workplace.

Ensures that the benefits of trade agreements reach poor women in developing countries through programs like trade capacity building and training for women entrepreneurs.

HOW? - The GROWTH Act creates an ‘incentive fund’ within USAID to actively encourage economic opportunity projects in poor developing countries to incorporate women’s needs.

FACT SHEET
THE GROWTH ACT GLOBAL RESOURCES AND OPPORTUNITIES FOR WOMEN TO THRIVE
The Global Resources and Opportunities for Women to Thrive Act (GROWTH Act) is groundbreaking legislation that proposes important changes to U.S. international assistance and trade programs to prioritize economic opportunities for women living in poverty worldwide. Investing in women is one of the surest routes to ending poverty in the developing world. The innovative provisions of the GROWTH Act remove a range of barriers that prevent women from participating actively in their countries’ economies. If passed, it would make U.S. policy a driver of positive change for women around the world.

WHAT YOU CAN DO
Ask your Member of Congress to cosponsor the GROWTH Act (H.R. 2965) - sponsored by Reps. Nita Lowey (D-NY) and Ileana Ros- Lehtinen (R-FL) and soon to be introduced in the Senate by Senators Kay Bailey Hutchison (RTX) and Richard Durbin (D-IL) - which proposes changes in U.S. international assistance and trade programs to prioritize the economic opportunities of women living in poverty worldwide, removing barriers that prevent their access to the world economy.

WOMEN ARE THE BACKBONE OF THE GLOBAL ECONOMY
Women’s share of the labor force is increasing in almost all regions of the world. However, although 60% of farm workers in Africa are women, they receive less than 1 percent of the total credit available to agriculture. Despite the key role women play in developing countries, women tend to work in the lowest paid sectors, have less stable incomes, work longer hours, have less access to training and education, and have fewer economic opportunities than men.

Decades of research and experience have shown that poor women reinvest any extra income they have in their children, creating a positive cycle of growth for the family. Greater economic opportunity for a woman means her daughters are more likely to go to school, her babies are more likely to survive infancy, and her family is more likely to eat nutritious meals. The woman herself is less vulnerable to trafficking and HIV/AIDS, and has more options in the face of violence or abuse.

KEY PROVISIONS OF THE BILL
The GROWTH Act authorizes $40 million for FY 2008 to reshape foreign assistance and trade policy to:

Promote women’s ability to start and grow businesses through continued support for women’s enterprises, and after the initial microcredit loan, so their businesses will grow and employ other women

Enhance women’s land and property rights so they can use their assets as collateral for loans, even prove ownership rights if they need compensation in the event of a disaster

Increase women’s access to better employment and improve wages and working conditions for jobs dominated by women by increasing women’s skills and informing them of their workplace legal rights

Ensure that the benefits of trade agreements reach poor women in developing countries through programs like trade capacity building and training for women entrepreneurs

Read more here.

Causes

I work in a firm dedicated to mission-focused organizations. I'm fascinated by social entrepreneurship. And I always want to do more.

So I’ve decided I’m going to start posting little bits and pieces about the social-profit" things that capture my attention -- like DATA and Kiva -- and I’m going to tag them “cause”.

The Getty Center

Family Vacations

Once, a long time ago, we went to a delicious restaurant in LA. There were fish outside.


Years later, we returned to LA. And based on the information above alone, we found it once more.


While some things had changed... (Is that Mom drinking something other than wine?!)


...others had not. (Gee, Alex is still a jerkface. And I say that with as much fondness as possible.)


It's amazing what our combined memories can accomplish.

There are so many wonders of travel…

B called me as I hurried through another crazy day at work. “Are you excited?” Tonight we leave for California.

“Of course,” I answered, mentally listing all the reasons to be: we’ll see my aunt and cousin, bake in the LA heat, escape from the stressors of Boston for a while. But I responded with the most overwhelming reason for excitement: “I love planes. And airports.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. They take me places.”


Truthfully, I love everything about travel – even the delays! (We spent nearly two hours lingering in the Milwaukee airport, which – by the way – closes remarkably early. Still, I had a beer, joked around with the fam’ hi , watched strangers mill about with great interest, and even bought some playing cards that had cheese on them. Tee hee)

There is just so much wonder, so much to soak in from airport to airport. To list a few…

• Remember when we could wear shoes when going through security? I like to play a game as I march through line these days; depending on my mood I make faces, stare or avoid eye contact, shuffle awkwardly or walk confidently, and see if I get pulled aside for a more thorough search. More often then not, they pick me and rummage through my stuff, which usually leads to an unnecessarily heated exchange that results in tears on my part. (There’s something about travel that piques emotions, dontcha think?)

• Also, why does it smell so funny when you cross the threshold of the boarding ramp onto the plane? It’s truly an indescribable (or nondescript) stench, but guaranteed to be there. Maybe that’s what the outside of planes smell like.

• Have you ever reached into the pocket in front of you, only to discover a torn up and discarded boarding pass from the person who occupied your seat on the last flight? As I finger the scrap of paper, I imagine the many journeys this iron beast made just today… and also how poorly the cleaning people did their job between adventures. (What filth did they fail to clean? Am I sitting in a pool of bacteria? Will I arrive in LA sick with a bug some stranger left behind?) More intently I wonder what his story was – who was this person? Who is John Doe? Was he going home, or visiting? How old was he? Was he handsome? Awkward? Why is the seat marked on the stub not the seat I occupy now? Did he switch to accommodate others, or did someone switch to help him?

• After take off, how the hell do planes fly? All that weight, suspended in mid-air, lightening and rain in the periphery of the horizon shared by nature and man-made beasts.

• And why do some people sleep so well on planes, and others can’t even manage a nap?

• Is there something about an airplane cabin that stimulates certain desires, skills, etc? I always feel the need to write when I’m 30,000 feet high. Do others also succumb to an overpowering surge of creativity?

• There is nothing better than being served warm chocolate chip cookies and milk halfway through your flight. For this reason, please travel Midwest.

• For me, there’s always something special about the descent. Most prominently is the intense excitement of being someplace new… or returning to that warm, special place called home after time elsewhere. But it’s also a remarkably unique perspective of a city. Boston, for example, is manageable, sweet, painted in unobtrusive colors and adorned with a fantastic skyline. Milwaukee is green, spacious. And LA – LA is a city. When you approach, you see clusters of light from far, far away, and wonder: is that all LA? You figure one cluster must be San Diego, and all the others in between must be the many small cities that litter the coast. But as you approach, you realize it’s all LA. The city is a sprawling mass of spectacular lights perfectly arranged in a grid you can see clearly from miles above. Boston doesn’t resemble anything remotely close to a grid; it’s an ad-hoc web of streets and neighborhoods developed throughout the history of this country. By comparison, LA is a baby – settled more than 150 years after Boson. And a place like Paris, for example, shames Boston in urban experience, having been around for more than two millennia.

• Airports themselves are fascinating. Sitting in the plane, waiting for the clearance to disembark, you watch another world full of life. Airports are like stables, corralling giant metal machines instead of horses.

• And then, all the wonders of travel culminate in Arrival. The battle for bags at the baggage claim, the always disorientating search for transportation (even when you’re familiar with the airport, finding a way out seems unnecessarily complicated), the relief when you realize you’re minutes from reaching your destination, and the renewed energy and excitement when you finally arrive. It was exhilarating to see Sarah – even though it was 5am EDT, and we had spent a good twelve hours trying to survive from one place to another.

I think that’s it – that’s why I love the act of traveling so much. It’s the adventure, the fight for survival (however modest), inherent in any airport/plane experience.

It reminds me of Indiana Jones. (Speaking of -- can you wait for #4 to come out next spring?!?! I can’t!)

Growing Old

We were sitting comfortably, talking about many things. It was an ordinary afternoon. But in a moment, my life was going to change.

I was deeply immersed in telling some story of the day. My father was engaged, his eyes listening intently. My mother, who had appeared deeply interested until this point, had let her eyes wander and suddenly scrunched her nose up like she does when she’s about to announce: “Catherine, you need a hair cut.” or “Catherine, you need to pluck your eyebrows.”. Instinctively, I paused. But she didn’t say anything, and suddenly returned her gaze to my eyes, looking sheepish.

That’s when I knew it was something really bad. “What, Ma?”

“Oh, nothing.” If you wait long enough, Mom will reveal something she may not have wanted to originally. So I held my tongue.

“It’s just,” she said, “that looked like a gray hair.”

I laughed. “Ma, I’m 22. I don’t have gray hairs.”

She looked awkwardly at my father, who suddenly was scanning my scalp as well. “No,” he said, and I felt relieved. B always has my back. But then: “That’s definitely a gray hair. I can see it from here.” And B has really, really poor eyesight.

Omg. Of course, I figured, they’re just both getting old and seeing things. “Pull it out then. We’ll see.”

So she did – along with about 10 other perfectly happy strands of golden girls. But she held the one – the obviously gray hair – higher than the rest.

“Shit.”

Simpsons Quote of the Day

From Mr. Montgomery Burns:

I’ll keep it short and sweet — Family. Religion. Friendship. These are the three demons you must slay if you wish to be successful in business.

Makes you think twice about business aspirations, huh?

Dec. 21, 2012

This is the scariest show I’ve ever seen.

We only have five more years to live before the world ends!

They all said so… The Mayans, ancient prophecies, even WebBot. I was so scared I IMed my brother — the scientist — about it this morning:

Me: I watched a History Channel special last night about doomsday. It was scary as f*ck.

Alex: Is it Dec. 21st, 2012?

Me: Yea! How’d you know?

Alex: Because I just had a dream last night that the world would end on that date.

Me: Shut up.
(Pause.)
Me: You’re kidding.
(Another pause.)
Me: Right?
(Looong pause.)

Alex: Obviously. I watched it the other day.

Me: It was scary!

Alex: Psht. That crap about the Earth’s mantle shifting overnight was funny.

Funny? I didn’t think so.

Me: Really? Aren’t you worried about the Earth and the Sun and the black hole?!
Me: The History Channel said it’ll be the end of the world!

Alex: Yes, well, http://www.deathclock.com/ tells me that I’m going to die in 2055. July 21st to be exact.
Alex: So I must survive the mantle shift then, I guess.
Alex: Hooray for me.

Whatever. I'm going to spend the next five years living it up. And for the rest of you believers, I encourage you to preorder Survive2012. It’s non-fiction, and will include chapters on unicorns. Yay!

Wanderlust

Hung out with a couple old friends, guys who I absolutely adore but haven't seen for almost a year. We saw each other all the time in high school.

This is what they said:
"We're moving to San Diego."

This was my immediate response — despite all the wonderful things going on in my life here — "I'm unfathomably jealous and should probably go with you."

And to think, just the other day Mom told me I was starting to think like a grown up.

Alcoholoroscope

From my new favorite site...

This is uncannily accurate:

GEMINI (May 21 - Jun 21)
Drinking style: Gemini's can drink without changing their behavior much -- they're so naturally chatty and short-attention-spanned that it's just hard to tell sometimes. They can amaze you by conversing with finesse and allusion, then doing something unbelievable in a n extremely advanced state of intoxication, like puking in your shoe. Gemini's possess the magic ability to flirt successfully (and uninfuriatingly, which is very tricky) with several people at once. They like to order different cocktails every round -- repetition is boring -- and may create a theme (like yellow drinks: beer, sauvignon blanc and limoncello) for their own amusement.


What's your sign?

Oh no! My new hero is a fraud!

OMG — Bear Grylls is a fake.

Such a shame.


(Also, he named his kid Marmaduke. Eek.)

I <3 the Discovery Channel

Last night, I fell asleep on my couch watching Man vs. Wild, because for some bizarre reason it’s entertaining to see a sexy ex-special opps agent (complete with British accent) drink his own urine in order to survive.

Gross.

That Line Again

When do you cross that line? What personal pieces are ok to reveal in your “professional” world?

I’m very bad at it; very little remains serious & professional in my life. I’m personal by nature. I once tried to have a strictly professional relationship with someone I met in a quasi-work environment… and then he discovered my blog. (But it’s way more fun this way!)

This weekend I pose the question is for a much stranger reason. Vintage opened up around the corner from our office and provided a much-needed, classy outlet for cocktails.

We were early adopters. Within weeks, all the ladies in my office were regulars. At this point, we’re on a first name basis with everyone that works there, and they kiss us hello & goodbye everyday. Because we’re there every day.


Last night, however, was the first night I showed up not in non-work attire. David, the owner, said hello and “Gee, Catherine, I’m used to see you a little more…umm… buttoned-up.”

Julie and I were on our way from a rock bar, so I fit the description — platinum shoes, ripped black jeans, big hair, red lipstick… and a sparkly top that reveals much.

“Yes, this isn’t exactly something I’d show my bosses.”

That night I dreamt about driving David’s Ferrari.

This morning I realized it was all over. Vintage is now a mirage of personal and professional, and they knew more than just one side. When it comes to work outlets, a certain level of anonymity is nice.

So… needless to say, I think it’s time for a break from the bar. Onto someplace new?

Fun Friday

And I thought my life was going to slow down.

Hah.

Summer hours just lead to sloppy nights.

The first was fairly unsuccessful; I left the office at 4:30 instead of 2:00.

Friday #2, July 13th, was far more… exciting? My two Public Affairs teammates & I decided to spend the sunny afternoon doing a public service… helping Lindsay get rid of the leftover booze & snacks from the previous weekend’s roof deck party. (There’s nothing like looking over the skyscrapers of Boston with two good friends.) One thing led to another… and sometime around midnight we were drinking sake in Chinatown with three of Lindsay’s closest friends.

The 20th, however, takes the cake. As Lindsay’s time at the firm comes to a close, I reserved the afternoon — 2:30pm to 2:30am — for “Fun Friday”. Fun it was!

2:30pm: Harry Potter & The Order of the Pheonix movie
My favorite book, mostly because my favorite character — Sirius Black — plays a central role. The movie was also a lot of fun… and Lindsay taught me the thumb game with the previews. (You’d never know we were twenty-somethings instead of kids…)

5:00pm: Rendezvous
Lindsay’s best friend & sister-in-law, Leah, who also has summer hours, met us after an afternoon of shopping. For fitness, we walked home (women will be women…) where we met more friends.

5:30pm: Arrive at Barking Crab
…where it’s packed. But we pile in and, after waiting forever, order pitchers of beer… that disappear quickly. Desperate for more but lacking patience, they nominate me to go to the bar. All I could think about was Martine, my Dutch friend from France, saying: “Make use that you’re a lady.” Armed with a smile, I plowed my way through the easiest crowd to breach… the construction workers. After a few minutes, I returned to our table with pitchers of beer.
Apparently, while I was en route, the bouncer approached the table and said, “Damn, that girl is brave.”
I do what I can. Especially for beer.

10:30pm(ish): The Vault
It’s starting to get sloppy… which means it’s time to move on. So to the Vault we walk, where we proceed to drink some more.

11:45pm(ish): The Tavern
Onto Beacon Hill. Hilarity ensues. We start hearing random pick up lines like, “I live in Charlestown. Do you want to come home with me?” No. Then five minutes later, “Are you sure?” Yes, I’m sure. Twenty minutes later. “Still don’t want to come home with me?”

12:30am(ish): Cambridge Street
I put a friend in cab because he’s too drunk to make it. It funnier for a lot of other reasons, too.

2:30am: Chinatown
We’ve reached our goal: We had a solid 12 hours of fun… but it’s still going on. Time for a post-drinking dinner. In addition to it being absolutely delicious, Lindsay & I start to realize we’re the only ones left still articulate and standing. Her husband takes a nap under the table. Seriously.

3:30am: Home
Tequila and I pass out… knowing tomorrow might be just as crazy.

11:30am: Breakfast
Roll my tired & aching body out of bed just in time for Alex to make eggs… yumm…

Just to embarrass my mother…

Remember that time I pitched that story? The interview is tonight… So all of you should start reading All You magazine in hopes to see the love story of Bernice & Richard!

Hahah

Friend & Inspiration

There are some people you really can’t help but admire. Lindsay Hyde is definitely one of them.

It’s been an incredible ride: Through meeting her and helping her with her DC tour, I’ve learned a lot and realized the amazing potential. Through getting to know her, I’ve realize what an awesome person she is… and what a fun friend she could be.

It’s been nice. Earlier this week the article I seeded came to fruition, complete with a giant picture of Lindsay’s smiling face. It’s led to other leads, including a radio interview this weekend. I’m so impressed by her work and her organization, and pitching her story is ridiculously easy. It’s just that interesting. She’ll definitely beat me to Time’s 100 list. ; )

Anyways, a few weekends ago I received an e-vite from her for a housewarming party. I’m not very familiar with the whole e-vite process… so I figured it was sent to a mass mailing list and I was on it accidentally, as a work contact.

But when she thanked me re: the Globe piece, she added, “And I really hope to see you at my party on Saturday!”

Gulp. “Of course!” I responded. And quickly ran out to get a nice housewarming gift.

The party was last night, and I ventured over after my father’s birthday dinner at Sel de la Terre. It was so great to see her… and see her as a friend, a fiancée (as of yesterday!), and totally in her own, social, causal element.

That’s about when it dawned on me. Truly, “ordinary” people can do extraordinary things. She’s just a smart girl with a good idea, with passion, and with loving support from friends and family.

Now all I need is a good idea.

A Letter to Tony

Tony is my favorite (& only) Australian friend. He’s important in my life. I met him in St. Tropez, and I miss it all — the country, my friend, and the adventures we had there — very much. So today I wrote him a letter:

Do you know when we met? It was June 3rd, 2005. I adopted Tequila one month later. On August 3rd, we waved to each other — me on the balcony of "my" lighthouse, you on your boat near Bastide Blanche. By September, my family was in Camarat & I spent most days at L'Esquinade. On October 3rd, you & I drank outside on the balcony of the Sube, admiring the boats in town for the Nioulargue. We walked along the port afterwards, remember?, and you told me about Mariette.

Every night I spent in France, I wrote some story from that day's adventures. On days like today — rainy, cool, unfocused — I reread them. It does nothing to help my motivation.

In fact, it just makes me miss France more than usual; the dull longing becomes an overwhelming pain. And you, my dear friend, are so much of my memories of France (& afterwards!) that it makes me miss you even more, too.

So please tell me of your adventures. I’m in desperate need of some excitement. Through your stories of the Med, I will live a dramatic life on the high seas!

@ the beach

It’s been about two years since I went to the beach. I’m loving every second of it.

There’s no better feeling than your skin baking in the sun...

BBQ & Fireworks

For having lived here all my life, there are many basic Bostonian things I’ve never done. Until this year, I had never gone to the marathon. And I had never seen the Boston Pops/fireworks spectacular.

I fought my way through freezing, gross, drizzle to watch the marathon for a whole five minutes before I deemed myself miserable and went inside for a beer.

Fourth of July, however, I decided to stick it through. Visited the fam for a wonderful barbeque under the gorgeous July sun... Unfortunately, the sun suddenly disappeared behind thick gray clouds, and the rain started. It was light, but it was cold. My cousins, aunt and uncle, who watch the fireworks every single year in the exact same spot, were undeterred.

We braved the rain. I didn’t have a raincoat, an umbrella, or even a hood. And I was in heels. (Yes, my own fault, I know. Still, I’m going to wine about it.) We arrived in the “usual” spot... three and a half hours early. Seriously.

“Normally you can’t even move by now, because it’s so crowded,” the family explained. Maybe that’s true... but this year, we were just one of three very small groups standing in the middle of Storrow Drive.

That’s what struck me immediately. I’m standing, totally unprotected, feeling oddly vulnerable, in the middle of the asphalt that — every other time in my life — has been packed with quickly moving cars. I’m standing in the middle of a highway.

The rain continued to fall, washing away the excitement of location. By the time the Pops started, I was on the brink of bailing. It was cold. It was wet. And I was less than intrigued.

Hanging out with the family kept me rooted to the spot. When the fireworks started, I was glad.

All my life, I’ve only ever seen fireworks on Cape Cod... or in the distant horizon, as I watched them explode over the Med from the safety & height of Cap Camarat. The year the Falmouth barge caught on fire — that was a show... and every other year was a cute little display of lights. We made our own fun with sparklers and, later in life, beer.

But Boston does it differently. I have never seen anything like it in my life! It was magic. An impressive half-hour display of synchronized lights and music, gloriously exploding shapes, a mirage of sparkling colors. I was in awe of ancient China… and impressed by how much technology today allows us to do.

But the street was empty(ish). When I headed over, an veteran Boston Pops/Fireworks goer said, “The most amazing thing is that you’re there, sitting in the middle of Storrow Drive, with a half million other people. It’s like New Years in Times Square.” That, I missed.


I did, however, encounter the millions of other people on my travels home… which absolutely sucked.

Halfway There

This January, for the first time in many years, I made a list of resolutions. Six months later — halfway through the year — I decided to look back and see what kind of progress I’ve made. Quite honestly, things are not looking so good.


Those that have failed:

“Take a photography class.” — You know, I tried to take a 2-session writing class, but didn’t show up for the second half. I don't think this bodes well for my commitment issues.

“Learn French. Seriously.” — No progress. In fact, I think I’ve lost a lot for lack of use, and I can't afford to even visit France this year. So immersion is out.

“Cut my credit card debt in half.” — I have instead increased my existing debt 1.5x. Thank God I’m moving home.

“Visit some place totally new (in addition to France).” — Again, money's tight. But the year’s not over yet.

“Write the first draft of my first book.” — Hah. I bought a journal to start jotting down notes? It’s still blank.

“Volunteer. And do something good for humanity.” — I am volunteering time to mentor a refugee from Africa, but it’s going a lot slower than I would have liked. I’m also serving on the board of a local non-profit, but again, my role is limited. So, while these are steps in the right directions, results are limited… and impact certainly won’t affect all of humanity.

“Go to the gym (at least more than I currently do — which is once every six months… or so).” — Seeing as I haven’t been since January, and probably won’t go ever again, I’d say no. I failed here.

Those that have potential:

“Get something in the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and/or The Washington Post.” — Well, I was pretty good at nurturing someone at the WSJ, but it’s kind of quieted down and not looking so promising. But that doesn’t mean we can count this one out… yet.

“Meet a boy... that I will actually date.” — Hahaha. I did try! Twice! And more are in the pipeline?

“Keep a regular blog. Again.” — It’s not very interesting, but I’ve been pretty successful here!

Those that I have fulfilled:

...ummm... check back later for updates.

Goodbye, June.

I can’t believe what a month this has been. Party after party… girls nights out, boys on the radar (after what — 2 years?!), promotions & birthdays, warm weather & summer fun. I love June.

I started by saying every weekend I’d do something fun. But then I gave up recalling weekends, because they just blurred into the weeks. The weekends started on Wednesdays and lasted until Tuesdays. I spent more off-nights at Vintage Lounge (the local bar of choice) than I know what to do with. All month, I had 7 nights off (including Sundays). I can’t believe I’m still standing.

To wrap the month up, tonight we celebrated an early 4th of July at my favorite married friends’ annual roof-deck BBQ. What fun it was. Perfect weather. Good company. Harpoon Summers & spicy cheeseburgers. I’d write more, but I couldn’t possible capture the chilled out, grown up kid-like atmosphere. Plus, sheer exhaustion has taken over. And my body is sick of alcohol.

…so goodnight, everyone. And goodbye, June.

One drink. Really.

I walked back into our favorite bar for the traditional Friday wine-wind-down. The moment I stepped foot inside, the bartenders, hostesses, and owner all demanded: “Where’s Tequila?!”

Dear God. My dog’s famous.

One Tequila… on the floor

Sometimes it’s just easier to keep going than to slow down. It’s been a whirlwind of a month, fun & colors flying by. Every once in a while I take a moment from my ridiculously busy work day to reflect upon the previous evening, sooth the headache, and find myself uncontrollably laughing at some silly memory.

This morning has been full of laughter and Advil.

Yes, I have been out every night this week. So last night I brought the dog to work for two reasons: 1.) It’s hot. 2.) If I have my dog with me, I can’t go to the bars and will therefore go home at a reasonable hour and get a long, full, sober night of sleep.

Wrong.

Julie and I ended up working late. Around 8, I said, “How about one glass of wine to wind down? It’s gorgeous out, and I need something to calm my nerves.” I’ve never known Julie to turn down a drink.

We set off seeking outdoor accommodations where Tequila could join us. With waits from 50 minutes to an hour and a half near the waterfront, we decided to head back towards the office and into the city… where our favorite bar has empty outdoor tables. And we sat, ordered the wine.

Being regulars, the manager came out to hang for a few. He loved Tequila (but then again, who doesn’t?) She was super-cute & well behaved, so we decided to stay for dinner. Pizza and one more glass of wine later, we decided to order a last drink. No sooner had we toasted to another fun week than the skies opened up and rain came pouring down. We were stuck. With Tequila with us, we couldn’t go inside. But with fresh drinks in hand, we couldn’t possibly leave.

We found ourselves dry, huddled under the awning above the entrance way. The owner came out, looked at us, and laughed. “What the hell are you guys doing out here?”

“Well, we can’t come in.”

“Why? ‘Cause of your seeing eye dog? I don’t care. Bring her in.”

In we went.

So there was me, Julie & Tequila, hanging out in the bar.

And of course, everyone wanted to buy the girls with the dog a drink… so we stayed until closing. I have the best dog ever. All she did all night was sleep under my stool, and come cuddle with whomever would come over to give her some lovin’ and us some drinks. The entire staff hung out with us. We even got fancy snowcone drinks that take 5 whole minutes to make.

But, of course, no T runs that late, so I ran found myself in the second challenging situation of the evening: How do you get a golden retriever home at 2:30 in the morning?! No cab in their right mind would take us. (Not that I blame them — have you seen how much she sheds?!)

I was running out of options. In the back of my panicked mind I figured I could sleep in the office and take the first T home, drop the dog off, and shower. Yes, that would suck, but I can’t walk home this late at night. It takes two hours. And it’s not safe.

“Julie, what time does the T open?”

But Julie was falling asleep on her feet. So I befriended the old creepy Italian bellman. After winning him over with my girlish charm, I casually made my case: “I have the best dog here ever, she’s so quiet and well-behaved. But she’s big, and no cab will take us.”

“I have a friend who drives a cab,” he said, and I knew I was in.

While waiting for his friend to arrive, a drunk man stopped beside me and said, “Where I am from, we call zees a labrahdor.”

I can recognize that accent anywhere. “Mais oui! Et elle est française, donc elle s'est souvent appelée un Labrador.” And then we spoke French.

Of all things, he was a deckhand on some wealthy man’s private yacht. It made me miss Tony.

Anyways — the cab arrived. But his last fare puked all over the seat. Tequila and I had to make a decision: take a huge risk and not get in the stinky van, or accept that the only cab willing to take us will smell of vomit. So we rode home in with the stink of puke in our nostrils, grateful somebody would take us.


I only saw Alex briefly this morning. He says, “Really, Catherine? Out to 3:30 with the dog? C’mon now.”

And that’s why tonight, I’m going to bed by 9.

Oh dear... another night out.

You know it’s bad when you’ve become such a regular at a bar that the owner and bartenders meet you socially.

Tonight we were partying at the Greatest Bar, celebrating the pilot episode of our colleagues new TV show about nightlight in Boston. It was fun, totally inappropriate, hilariously random, and one of those nights that will encompass amusing memories for quite some time.

I just can’t even get into it at the moment. I’m far too tired.

Not so much

This was supposed to be date #2 with the guitarist. Obviously it’s not happening. This is for three reasons:

1.) HE cancelled. (Kind of.) He was booked for a gig last minute tonight, so he couldn’t make it to a movie (my idea: less talking involved). He invited me along, but I politely declined.

2.) He won’t stop calling me at work, even when I’ve asked him not to. I can’t answer the phone in the middle of meetings to talk about comic books and Nintendo games. (Seriously, this is what he calls about.)

3.) He keeps talking about “the long term.” Maybe I’m a commitment-phobe, but it’s creeping me out.

4.) He failed to acknowledge (in any way) my birthday, which I've been talking about since we met. I mean, not even a text message. Not even an e-mail!

Poor kid. I’m being cruel. He’s super sweet, kind, polite, ridiculously good looking, funkily alterative… and totally not for me.

Sorry to disappoint… I know you all were rooting for a date #3.

Drinks w/ LK

I love hanging out with Leslie. She’s awesome. She’s brilliant & kind, and she’s fun.

And every time we have drinks and snacks, I leave with so much to think about.

Umm... A Saturday Recap Attempt

I adore Michelle. She was one of the four neighborhood girls growing up, and we always had fun. We’d write, spy, dream of far off places. But then she moved away.

Somehow, we kept in sporadic touch. It wasn’t until a recent pit stop in DC that we really reconnected, and I realized how much we had in common. So naturally I’ve been looking forward to her visit for quite a long time.

I had no idea how crazy it’d be.

We hung out at the apartment for awhile before heading into Harvard Square. She requested a place where we could get cheap drinks (nearly impossible in this town), and/or a bar where we’d be comfortable without dressing up, but someplace where we could dance. To me, that means $5 margaritas at Border Cafe followed by drafts & dancing at Tommy Doyles.

HILARIOUS.

Cosa and her boyfriend, Steve, met us at Borders, and we chatted over cheese quesadillas and nachos. Then to Tommys… We walked up to the bouncer (who was collecting a $2 cover charge — why bother?!) and Michelle winks & says, “Can we get a group rate?”

The bouncer laughed. She held strong.

“How many are you?” he asked, his voice thick with a Caribbean accent.

“5.”

“Four hot ladies & just one man,” I added.

“In that case, sure. How much you got?” A few dollars later and we were in.


I always thought I could dance. But then I watched Michelle.

That girl can MOVE! The moment she stepped on the dance floor was the moment men started appeared out of no where. I think they crawled out of the woodwork. Men ditched the girls they had previously been drooling over to come watch Michelle. But she, being so “international” in focus, picked the curly haired Brazilian who didn’t speak English. She’s fluent in Spanish, so somewhere between that and his Portuguese they managed some kind of conversation. All night. He told her his friends wanted to dance with her friends.

Which is when I quickly retreated to the bar with Cosa and Steve.

It was around this time when Cosa and Steve recognized the boyfriend of one of their friends. This kid, Richie, was native to East Cambridge; tough, tattooed, rough around the edges. But nice. The four of us hung out until closing time… when the Brazilians would not release Michelle and her friend from their charming conversation.

So I asked this Richie to break it up. It didn’t take much. He walked over, crossed his muscular arms, and said: “Girls, if you want a ride, we’re leaving now.” The men, scared, turned away. Michelle & her friend, eager to get off their feet, came over.

And so we hopped in his car. Somehow it made sense to drop Cosa and Steve off first. “They’re most out of the way.” I guess?

But on the way from Allston to Porter Square, the boys decided they were hungry. “Pizza, anyone?”

We were hungry too, but never have I had a weirder late-night experience. We entered a trashy pizza place in sketchy Central Square. Homeless drunks begged outside. Indoors, two police officers kept watch. And I was the only white person in the place. And having grown up in the country, I’m really really white.

Soon Michelle’s friend was speaking German to some Eastern European immigrant. Michelle was chatting away in Spanish to two guys behind her. And I just huddled close to Richie, trying not to seem too out of place. “Um, can we go home now?”

No one listened until the shop owner said they were locking the doors for the night. So we piled into the car and they dropped us off not far from home.

We walked around the corner & down the street to my apartment, and never have I felt so relieved to walk into my own space.

What a night.


And by 8:30 this morning, Michelle & her friend were gone. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.