iMuff...doU?

Ok, so the wait sucked. Ok, it makes me never want to do business through Amazon again (not that it was Amazon’s fault or anything). Ok, the price was more than what I can honestly afford.

But oh my God — these are SO worth it!!!

The iMuffs are more fun and convenient than I could ever describe. To walk around wire-free, tuned into the high-quality sounds of you iPod (seriously — the iMuffs sound better than the crappy white earphones that come with the thing!), is just incredible. No more tangles as you maneuver through your everyday tasks, no more near-death experiences through wire strangulation (...Julie...), no more “ear buds” ripping out of your ear at the slightest tug, no more struggling to coordinate running at the gym while navigating a world of white wires.

And, best of all, no more frozen fingers as you hold a cell phone to your ear walking down the bitter streets of Boston — for the iMuffs work incredibly well as a bluetooth headset!

These are fantastic!!!

Les Signes

Do you believe in signs?

I do. (What can I say? The Alchemist is my absolute favorite book. Ever.) I believe there’s something greater that encourages us to go certain ways, and if we listen close enough, we will find these paths that will ultimately lead us to happiness.

Of course, more often than not, my “signs” tell me to go back to France. Take today, for example:

• Upon arriving to work, I went immediately to the coffee machine to make a cup. Lisa, our wonderful office admin person, had ordered a new variety of coffee — which I just grabbed and drank and loved. When I asked what it was, the response was, “Well obviously you loved it. It’s called “French Dark.”


• I turned on my computer and opened my e-mail. Inexplicably, all my computer’s automated messages were in French — and the only way to stop it was restart the computer all together. This isn’t the first time it’s happened.


• I wrote to my favorite career consultant — a contact at the Skoll Foundation who is French by birth — about traveling and Paris. After struggling with writer’s block all weekend, this was the first articulate document I was able to compose.


• We received this month’s edition of Urban Land, ULI’s publication, and our client is in it. (It’s a piece I pitched months ago, but it’s fun to see it together — and it looks great!) I sent it to the contact responsible for gathering information from the client’s side, who I have never met before but worked closely with when creating the by-line. She wrote back with words of congratulations and a big fat “Merci!”… but why thank me in French?


• It was another crazy, miserable, work-filled and overwhelming day. Strolling down the hall in the early afternoon, one of the interns (who looks EXACTLY like my brother’s friend Becca, who came to Camarat with us last time) stopped me and said, “Are you ok? You look like a fish out of water!” The last time someone called me that was when I came home from France last September and my mother said I should go back… that I was 'a fish out of water in Boston, happier in a different culture.'


• At the gym (that’s right, I made it there tonight), I plugged my iPod into my ears and listened to my seemingly RANDOM mix of music. Except, as luck would have it, the first 10 songs were 10 of the 25 French-language songs I have on there. I mean, what are the chances of that?

Ok, fine... maybe I stretch the “signs” a little bit.

But it tells you where my heart really is, doesn’t it? And isn’t that enough?

Hhhmmm...

Ready for something new?

Check out the last sentence of this post...
...a understand that Kiva is pretty awesome.


Plus, San Fran offers better winters. ; )

The Secret to Freedom

I finished Blackberry Wine and concluded it was a charming book. Then I moved on to some “heavier” reading.

The Uses of Disorder, written by Richard Sennett, examines personal identity and city life. It’s wildly outdated (having been published in 1970), with current event commentary like "if the war in Vietnam ever ends" and frequent references to communist revolutions. But the heart of the matter still seems to ring true.

"The theme of this book is that there appears in adolescence a set of strengths and desires which can lead in themselves to a self-imposed slavery; that the current organization of communities encourages men to enslave themselves in adolescent ways; [and] that it is possible to break through this framework to achieve an adulthood whose freedom lies in its acceptance of disorder and painful dislocation..."

Thanks, but stop

I’m sick of people scolding me.

Maybe scold isn’t the best word; it’s not exactly accurate. But I feel like I get scolded all the time.

Sometimes, it’s a matter of confusion, ridiculousness, and mixed messages... At work — something should have taken priority over something else, something should have been done in addition to that other great thing, there should have been reminders about this.

Sometimes it’s very valid... At home — for something I did or didn’t do with Tequila, for forgetting to lock doors, for leaving lights on too long.

But either way, it feels constant... My friends scold me for keeping my phone off and being so out of reach. My family scolds me for my inability to stop using credit cards and for planning ridiculous adventures in my future.

And everyone scolds me for not wanted to stay put, settle down, make commitments. They tell me not to take out loans. They say, ‘Find a job that will pay for school.’ ‘Put some realistic thought into your future — don’t just dream about what you want to do.’

I understand people say those things because they care. They want to protect me. They don’t want to see me struggle or suffer in the future.

But that’s just who I am. I don’t want to settle down. Maybe I will later, but right now I’ll do everything I can try new things, see new places. I’m not afraid of debt — if that’s what it takes, than that’s what it takes. Maybe I am being foolish. Maybe it is irresponsible. Maybe in ten years I’ll regret the bills I have to pay for living on a whim in my youth.

But then maybe I’ll learn.

Clearly words aren’t doing anything “to knock some sense into me,” but instead only make me feel bad. I’m still going to dream about adventures elsewhere. I’m still going to plan several cities into my future. I’m still going to explore un-economical ways to fund my dreams. I’m not going to stop until I learn it’s not a smart thing to do… and at that point, I’ll have to figure out my own path to recovery. That’s how people grow up.

So let me be a reckless youth. The consequences will be mine to deal with in the future.

Thanks for caring. I love you too.

But at the ripe old age of 21, I think I know everything and I’m going to do whatever I want. And the only way that’s going to change is if I learn from my own mistakes.

Right?

Today & Every Winter Day

Today my shirt feels like summer.

White, whimsical, flowing, linen. At least two sizes too big. Buttons that look like polished iridescent sea shells.

I’m really not a winter person.

Today the side walks are icy, the snow keeps coming down, and the brisk chill of January has brought a fierceness to the dreary streets of Boston.

I hate it.

Today until the day I can be barefoot again, I hate it.



(I should live in a place where shoes are never necessary.)

Blue Monday

It really is the gloomiest day of the year.

Not to mention the Pat's lost, the weather's terrible, and it SUCKED at work.

But no matter how bad things get, at the first few chords of Not Fade Away, a smile inevitably creeps over my face.


... the power of music ... : )

OMG

I can’t even talk right now.

GO PATS!!!

(the kind of junk mail I LOVE getting:)

Peyton Manning, after living a full life, died. When he got to heaven, God was showing him around.

They came to a modest little house with a faded Colts flag in the window. "This house is yours for eternity, Peyton," said God. "This is very special; not everyone gets a house up here."

Peyton felt special, indeed, and walked up to his house. On his way up the porch, he noticed another house just around the corner. It was a 3-story mansion with a Silver and blue sidewalk, a 50-foot tall flagpole with an enormous Patriots logo flag, and in every window, a New England Patriots towel.

Peyton looked at God and said "God, I'm not trying to be ungrateful, but I have a question. I was an all-pro QB, I hold many NFL records, and I even went to the Hall of Fame."

God said "So what's your point Peyton?"

"Well, why does Tom Brady get a better house than me?" God chuckled, and said:

"Peyton, that's not Tom's house, it's mine."

GO PATRIOTS!!!

Bad Business

When you buy something, pay for something, receive confirmation & shipment details, you expect it.

You expect it to arrive as promised, when promised, for the price you’ve paid.

And when it doesn’t show up, you expect the company to do something about it. It’s part of being in the service industry — serve people, and if you fail but want to continue having customers, make it right. Seems pretty simple to me.

Apparently, it’s not.

I ordered iMuffs a day or two after Christmas. They promised me the product would arrive within a certain window. When it didn’t arrive in the usual time period — five days — I e-mailed the company. I was polite, simply asking what was going on. They were polite, said give it a few more days, and then we’ll look into it. (Why they didn’t look into it then is beyond me.)

A few days passed, still nothing. I let them know. They said they’d talk to the shipping company and get back to me. A few days later, I hadn’t heard anything, so I wrote again.

They said they’d ask the shipping people to start an investigation, but they weren’t sure how long it’d take. They asked me to wait.

My patience began to wear away. I said I wanted them for last weekend, and now I wouldn’t have them for this weekend. Where are my iMuffs?

No response.

So then I got angry. I demanded a new product — I requested it be overnighted. Still nothing. It’s been over two weeks since the expected day of arrival, and I have no word about the iMuffs.

When do you reach the point of calling up the credit card, rescinding payment, and trying again from a different vendor?

GRRRRR!!!

Blackberry Wine

I’m reading this book by Joanne Harris. It’s about a writer (Jay), who has lost his muse.

From what I've gathered so far, Jay’s first book — a international best seller — was about his childhood mentor(?), Joe. To recapture his childhood inspiration, he’s just purchased a house in the French countryside.

I love this:

"‘Travel far enough’ Joe used to say, ‘and all rules are suspended.’ Now Jay began to understand what he had meant. Truth, loyalty, identity. The things which bind us to the places and faces of home no longer applied. He could be anyone."

::sigh:: the unrestricted freedom of becoming anyone.

When you’re all grown up...

...there’s no one there to take care of you.

I don’t mean that if I’m in trouble, there’s no where to turn. I don’t mean if I need help or guidance, there’s no one to consult. I don’t mean that when you grow up, you lose your family… because that certainly isn’t true.

I mean that there are lots of little things in life you have to do — go to the doctor, see the dentist, fill out your taxes on time, etc. As kids and teens, mommy and daddy help. If they don’t take you places and set up appointments for you, then they nag you until you take care of it yourself. However, when you grow up and move out, there’s no one to nag. You’re on your own.

I say this because today, I had a dentist appointment. Which I forgot all about.

That’s about when I realized I’m just way better at being a reckless, irresponsible adolescent. But being a kid is way more fun...

S t r e t c h e d T h i n

I feel like I’m shrinking. My brain, heart, and soul are oozing over the multitude of things going on in my life, like an egg cracked over a frying pan... whites and yoke creeping into the crevices and corners growing ever thinner as they spread.

I feel like I’m suffocating. I think of the list of things to do — at work, home, and for me — and can’t make out what comes first. I write more lists than I know what to do with... like a chimpanzee, one evolutionary step short of making human sense.

I feel like I’m lost. I can’t make out what goes where and which way’s up... like I’m suspended in a cosmic space with the pressure of the world crushing my body, darkness seeping into my bones.

And yet, I don’t seem to feel anything. I’m not really angry, as I have been in the past. I’m not too frustrated, as I often get. I’m not sad or disappointed or depressed, which lack of social contact often makes me. It’s like I don’t have time to feel.

Instead, while I plow forth with the tasks for which I am responsible, a movie reel plays in the back of my mind. I’m wandering the world. Reading Harry Potter in the orange hammock in Camarat, overlooking the Med. Meeting new and different people from exotic cultures, laughing joyfully with complete strangers. I’m elsewhere, starting from scratch, with no one around that I am responsible to.

But the real world always dominates, and I continue with what I’m doing, content to travel the globe in day dreams and what adventures unfold on the back of my eyelids late at night. I stay at work from 8:30 to 8:30. I arrive home to walk the dog for five minutes. I do the dishes and fold a blanket or two. I call my mother. I think about my friends, although they may not know it. And then I call it a day.

Then I wonder who’s benefiting from this crazy life.

Is it my clients? Probably not, for while I get my work done, I could be more strategic with more time. So maybe my co-workers? No, because with so much on my plate, some things are bound to fall of.

Then is it my friends? Definitely not, as there are people who I haven’t spoken to since before Christmas, and can’t find the time to even e-mail. And my family? Cousins in France have written and received no response. Family in Massachusetts see me briefly if they’re on my way from work to home, but they all wonder why I don’t return phone calls.

What about my dog? She’s not happy, as the poor girl hardly sees the outdoors unless she comes to work with me. Maybe my roommate? Well, in that case it probably doesn’t matter, as I live with a boy and he could care less if the sink sparkles or not... although my “OCD” makes me cranky in such an environment, so maybe this craziness affects him afterall.

Is it me? If I truly live for the moment, if I truly live for fun, then definitely not. What fun can be found in moments so fleeting that 12hrs of work still isn’t enough to complete the day’s chores? And life & fun are the most important things to me on my most selfish days.

My conclusion? Everyone loses.


There are only so many hours in each day; use them efficiently.
But there are only so many hours in a lifetime; make each one count.

GO PATS!

We rock!!!

Mystery on Beacon St.

Crime happens.

It sucks when things are stolen from apartments -- or so I'm told. Luckily (and knock on wood!), I've never lost anything from inside a place before... but as of today, I have been robbed. Well, Tequila has been, more acurately.

Every morning, the alarm goes off, we hit the snooze button, and some 15 to 30 minutes later we both reluctantly drag our heavy bodies out of the comfort of bed. Now that it's winter, we post-pone our walk until the evening... so I hook the Rose outside on her lovely red run and hop in the shower. It's the same run she uses for her last unsupervised outing of the day while I brush my teeth before bed.

Today, before bed, I went to hook her up and -- to our mutual shock & surprise -- there was no run with which to hook. We panicked -- searching the steps (where it's usually left), the dumpster (just feet away), the entire backyard, and even out front. But it was no where. It was gone. Somebody has stolen Tequila's red run.

But who would dare do such a thing?

Musical Cars

Alex bought a new car.

Well, he bought a Volkswagen Jetta about a month ago.

About a year ago, when I was shopping for iPods, I noticed that you can buy a VW Bug as an accessory. VW is always doing crazy things like that... for the Bug.

Alex didn't buy a Bug, but he still was the receiver of VW's fun. Yesterday, as I let myself in my front door, I was surprised to see a big white box from VW in the middle of the floor. Addressed to Alex, it had a number of labels on it referring to his Jetta and the color and the transmission and the "guitar." Guitar? I figured it was some accessory or something. Something you stick in the trunk.

Turns out, it was an accessory. And it probably will spend a lot of time in the trunk. But it's a car accessory like a car is an iPod accessory.

Alex tore the box open to reveal a quite nice white electric acoustic guitar, which he can plug right into his VW. (Cuz it's safe to drive and play the guitar, right?)

So now Alex is the proud owner of a guitar. That he has no idea how to play.

This ought to be funny...

All I have to say:

I'm still at work.

Winter (finally) Arrived

I liked the warmth. I liked walking around in a tee shirt on the 6th of January. I liked being by the ocean, basking in the sun, playing in 70° heat. It was fun to watch people in shorts jogging, dogs playing, kids laughing, and teens tossing footballs in Salem’s beautiful open park. That’s my kind of winter.

Unfortunately, I live in the Northeast, where we have winters that kill.

This isn’t one of those deadly winters. This is a perfectly average day -- 34°. But it’s still f*n cold.

I think it’s time for a warm-weathered vacation...

Blogging is Fun!

I’m leaving work feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. The internet is a truly amazing thing.

FIRST — imagine life without it? I can’t. I keep connected through e-mail. I find jobs, apartments, and goods online. Not to mention information on countless things. An online banking — whew! — with BofA, it’s honestly fun. I met Tony because we both were seeking jobs on an English-speaking website in the south of France. I found Tequila through the same site... and I can’t imagine life without her.

The internet has also been an intriguing way to share and network, to meet new people just by telling a little bit about yourself. I even met my friend Lee with help from “Web 2.0”... and he just started off as a pen pal with similar interests. Years later, I’m really happy to know him.

But don’t get me wrong... blogs have gotten me into trouble before. It was a very Harriot the Spy-kind of moment. (Notice how I still haven’t learned though?)

Anyways — today, the internet/my blog connected another circle. I started this by saying I was warm & fuzzy: I’m warm & fuzzy because today life is a little bit more interesting — not only for me, but for my grandparents, father, uncle and aunt... and for their long lost neighbor from some small Texan town.

It started with an innocent comment:

"Hello from Texas, Is this the same Michel Family that lived in Baytown, Texas in the 1950's and early 60's? This is John."

I know my aunt was born in Texas, and I recall Grandma’s story about killing poisonous snakes on the side of the road with a shovel or something. So I asked the family.

Pretty soon, I was overwhelmed with memories — not mine, but theirs. They had detailed recollections of their sweet neighbors... the parents and the children, the goodbye presents, many childhood games, and — by the sounds of it — lots of good times. They talked about how the family was "truly Texan." With eager enthusiasm, they requested John’s e-mail.

I distributed it appropriately, and confirmed John’s suspicion directly. "I’m the daugher of Richard, who was the younger of the two boys."

He capped off the afternoon of e-mail conversations with such a sweet note:

"Hi, Catherine,

This is wonderful. We all remember all of the Michels so very fondly and have many photos and memories. I remember the moment they drove away for their new lives outside Texas. We all had some sort of small present for each of the younger Michels - I gave one to your Dad.

Ask your Dad about the Bay. And cats. The Wahrmunds. Baseball with your Grandad. Good fun.

Isn't the Internet neat?"

Yes, John — it certainly is!

Sundays

I <3 TB.


(go us!)

A Future of World Travel and Social Good

This is my friend. He’s fun.

I met "Global X" while in San Francisco. I was immediately drawn to his presentation — a Frenchman and former photographer talking about blogs? Right down my alley. And after an hour or so crash-course in Web 2.0, I had to introduce myself.

Since then, we’ve had a lovely breakfast in Boston and planned a rendezvous in Paris. We’ve discussed social entrepreneurship; the world and what’s right & wrong about it; the crazy adventure that is life; French films and wine; and, of course, a bit of Web 2.0 (for work purposes). It’s great to hear of his adventures, and the more I hear… the more I think about my own future. This is the job I want when I grow up.

He makes a difference in the world... or at least is a small part of a bigger picture that does. He works for the Skoll Foundation — my favorite foundation — that encourages social entrepreneurship. (Think venture capitalism with the goal of social change instead of financial profit. It’s what our most recent panel was about, and it’s what I’m hoping my company will create a blog about.) Aside from running Social Edge, the Skoll Foundation’s online forum for social entrepreneurs, Global X travels the world doing "due diligence" — guiding passionate people in their pursuits to making the world a better place while simultaneously keeping a strategic eye open for the Foundation’s best interests. That’s what I want to do... see the world & make it better.

In the meantime, I’ll tell people to check out Kiva and Social Edge, I’ll figure out what I need to do to get the skills required to work at a foundation, and I’ll dream about other ways to travel the world…

Perhaps by representing America?

It’s Inauguration Day

It’s a historic day in Massachusetts.

This is a blue state. Proudly Democratic. Openly liberal. Flauntingly intimidating to Republicans.

And yet, we have repeatedly elected conservative governors.

But today was a day of 1sts. First of all, it was ridiculously warm. This, of course, facilitated the first outdoor inaugural ceremony for our new governor — the first Democrat to be elected to this position in 16 years. In front of an eager crowd on Boston’s historic open common, Deval Patrick became the 71st governor of Massachusetts, the first African-American governor of our Commonwealth, and the second black governor since Reconstruction. And his first day in office was full of festivities — including an open-to-the-public ball at the BCEC... a ball to which I was invited at 4:30pm.

There’s nothing like “Surprise — you need a dress” to put a damper on your evening plans… especially when the dress has to be nice enough (i.e. not too much cleavage) to impress your supervisors (Leslie & Lindsay) and the CEO of the firm (Helene — who we didn’t end up seeing). So much for prepping for Tony’s arrival tomorrow. I found myself panicked in Boston’s Faneuil Hall shopping district with a credit card and a look of desperation. But I made it work with a half-priced little black dress from Ann Taylor, a new pair of heels from DSW, and a couple new jeweled accessories given to me at Christmas. Plus, straight hair and red lipstick dress up any outfit.

Leslie, Lindsay and I were not so thrilled to be among the 11,000 (yes — eleven thousand) people dressed up in anything from cowboy hats and simple skirts to tuxedos and ball gowns. As Leslie said, “It’s a tale-gating party with fancy clothes.” She had a hallway to paint. Lindsay had thank you notes to write. And I had a friend coming from across the world who needed clean sheets and a bed to sleep in.

It’s funny though; alcohol always does the trick. The second we finally — FINALLY — found a bar with a line less than a half-hour long, and the moment we ordered our first cocktails, the night took a turn for the better. The music got louder, the people bolder, the environment funner. We found a ballroom lit up in red — with hardly anyone at the bar. (Easy access to alcohol is always a plus.) Then, to our pleasant surprise, the band started — and MAMBO they played! Soon enough, the dance floor was full of professional and amateur salsa and mambo dancers, everyone laughing and drinking and having a good time. Deval even graced us with his presence… and Leslie, Lindsay, and I ended up having a rather nice evening.

Of course — how can you go wrong with good music, great company, and a couple cocktails?

My Review of a Review of French Reviews of "A Good Year"

Reuters posted an article covering French coverage of Russel Crowe's latest film, "A Good Year." I was dying to see the movie... How can you go wrong with a love story based in Provence? Who wouldn't want to watch a movie about buying a cheap chateau in rural France and making the best of life?

According to French critis, you go wrong by focusing too much on cliches... but sometimes -- just sometimes -- stereotypes exist for a reason.

But sarcastic or not, they had something right.

"Everyone knows the French are grumpy and dirty, wear espadrilles and drive Renault 4s,"

Le Parisien noted sourly. "Fortunately they know how to appreciate life and good wine."

Dogs Really Do Look Like Their Owners!

Some say that people look like their dogs. Some have proven it.


Today was beautiful — Boston awoke to mild (almost warm) weather, bright sun, blue skies. Everyone took advantage. Driving to the train station, Alex and I passed a number of urbanites walking their pets, giving them an opportunity to soak in the big bad city.

This is when I started to realize how accurate the myth might be.

First, on one of the side streets connecting Somerville to Cambridge, we passed a large, hairy barrel of a dog — a super fat and fuzzy cardigan welsh corgi. Walking this dog was a large, fat, and hairy woman.

On Mass Ave, a long slender woman with golden-red hair and glasses darted across the street in front of our stopped car. Her pointy nose directed her path. She walked a mutt of some sort — but a lean, prancing, yipping, auburn colored dog with a hair cut to match its owner’s.

Closer to the T in Harvard Square, we passed a younger man who clearly spent too much time at the gym... and drinking beers. Broad shoulders and a big belly hid beneath his Boston Red Socks jacket, and his calf muscles — one branded with a Boston B tattoo — rippled in the sunlight between his long shorts (in the winter?) and sneakers. His face was round with a goatee that’s markings bore an uncanny resemblance to his dog… a Boston Terrier.

And as I sat on the Red Line heading to work, I realized that if it’s true — if owners really do look like their dogs — then I’m doing quite alright. I have a French bombshell with big brown eyes that make all sorts of dog owners stop to ask if she’ll be the bitch to their stud.


As the French said, elle est tres belle.


Of course that assumes Tequila is my match, not Cloey “no-neck” Ann — the round & fat (but adorable!) brown-eyed corgi I got nearly 10 years ago...

Also —

Go to Ryles and DANCE!

New Year’s Resolutions

In 2007, I will (in no particular order):

• 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.

Some would argue these are too lofty — or that I'm shooting too high, expecting to accomplish too much.

Just check back in 2008.