I hate to be a pain, but your dog just bit me.

It's about 8:45 tonight and I'm walking to the store for a candy bar. Warm air, nice smell, flower blossoms, spring is finally arriving, just in time for summer. As I come near my house, a man approaches, walking his mutt or german shepherd or whatever. I move to step aside, but the guy comes to his house and lets the dog in the gate. So I start to walk past the two, looking straight ahead instead of at the guy (Boston friendly.) All of a sudden I feel a strong tug on my arm, look down and see the dog's jaw wrapped around my wrist for a second. Then the guy says something very quietly and the dog sits down. I keep on walking, never exchanging a word with the dogowner. About a block away, looking down at my arm, I see a largish tear in the sleeve of the sweatshirt* I'm wearing. Whuh happen- Friendly canine roughhousing or Fox's 'A Dog's Revenge?'

*It's not my shirt, but I like it a lot. Maybe I shouldn't give it back to its owner, considering its condition. Ah well, at least it looks fantastic on me.

In a world of horses

I am away from my office at the moment, so my blogtime is limited. Please, indulge yourself on this excerpt from a recent e-mail Nicole got from an old flame:

"we are on two different paths, you and i. and i now know the paths never cross each other. i hope your path is smooth and paved, angels leading you in."

"you once equated me with a lemon. i know what you mean."

"you truly are a unicorn in a world of horses. a mythical creature that one counts himself lucky to have witnessed. but look away, even an instant, and it is gone."

p.s. I assume it's ethical to publish someone's personal email without telling them. I was raised by chimps.

Cartoonal

Boston is having the worst weather in the country right now, according to informed sources. It's wet and windy and generally awful. On my walk home from work, one of these things happened.
Can you guess which?
a)My umbrella turned inside out and started pulling me down the street.
b)People floated around in bathtubs and inner tubes and there were cows standing on the roofs of houses.
c)A cloud furrowed his brow, puffed out his cheeks and blew a big angry gust which broke windows and blew the uniform off a fat grumpy policeman (he was wearing heart boxer shorts.)

Floor Warden

So I was reading this posted notice yesterday about a scheduled fire drill at my job. One thing that struck me very funny was the last line that said "Your floor wardens are Jim Merriwether, Sandy Schuckley..."
While I was reading this, one of my "co-workers" (I don't really work here) approached me.
Perky Noelle: Whatcha lookin' at?
Snarky Jesse: What the hell is a floor warden?
Perky: Actually I'm a floor warden. I have to check in the bathrooms and under desks when there's a fire drill.
Snarky: Hm.
Perky: Yeah, they give me a special hat and everything.
I was so happy she said that, because I assumed it was a joke, something in short supply in this grim cavern of mathematics. I almost gave her a high-five for the effort.
Then today I walked by her cube and saw a bright red hat that says Floor Warden.
Irony is dead.

Short, Sweet

I was reading the blog of a friend of a friend yesterday. His catchphrase is "When I read other people's blogs, I skip to the short ones. These are all short ones." Hm. I am inspired.
Although it's unethical to cater to the attention span of the modern vapid Americano, I will blog more if I don't feel the need to write an epic novel every time I see a strangely shaped homeless person or a new hot dog flavor I want to try (mintyfresh?)
So I'll give you quantity, and try not to sacrifice quality...

Gotham Girls Roller Derby!

Nicole (aka Anna Konda) is in the middle. She is bathed in the blood of the weak.

Ruh Roh, it's the Class of '05

Last night I got back from my sister's college graduation at Mount Holyoke, a tiny liberal arts school in South Hadley, MA which is part of the Five-College Pioneer Valley.
After spending the day around bubbly college kids, I started thinking about the local mythology. You see, someone decided once that each of the five colleges had corresponding characters on Scooby Doo: preppy Fred is Amherst College, sexy Daphne is Mount Holyoke College, brainy Velma is Smith College, shaggy Shaggy is Hampshire College, and Scooby Doo, a talking dog, is the University of Massachusetts.

Let's take inventory:
-Amherst College, which used to be an all-boy's school, definitely fits with too-good, always-right, hair-in-place Fred.
-Hampshire is an uber-liberal school, where kids don't get grades and they create their own curriculums. In other words, hackeysacks and bongs on the lawn; I guess Shaggy is supposed to be some kind of stoner, due to his long hair and tomfoolery.
-Scooby is UMass because he's a dog who likes to party. I went to UMass. Dude.
-I don't think Smith and Mt. Holyoke add up. You see, I find Smith girls much more attractive* than their Mt. Holyoke counterparts. While both schools have a fair amount of lesbionics, Smithies often boast more glamour and lipstick, while Mt. Holyoke girls tend towards the rugby, butchie diesel appeal. However, Smithies are also smart, as are girls from Mt. Holyoke, which makes me realize the whole damn Scooby system is out of order.
You see, Fred got everything, the brains and the good looks, with money and bravery thrown in for flavor. With Velma and Daphne, though, there was only the option to have brains or beauty, not both. So much for Scooby Doo being a beacon of progressive thought. I'm outraged.

*It should be noted that lovely Nicole and chumley Alli are both Smith graduates. Luckily as a trained journalist, I am able to remove all bias when I say things like "Smithies are hotter."

Dusk in May

I haven't been writing for awhile because I was nervous about what to say. Part of it is that, half the time, I have no idea how I feel. I'm just settling into life. What I feel one minute changes with the beeping of a horn or a train ride or a phone call. When I say things now, I frequently think, "Will that be true in two weeks?" It seems like everything is changing at such a rapid pace, it's hard to keep up with my emotions. So why write something in my blog that doesn't end up being true?

But there's more to it than that.

I also feel like talking about all the fun and interesting things I notice here is almost a betrayal to my Midwestern chums. I'm afraid that my acceptance of Boston will be perceived as an implicit rejection of Wisconsin. This of course couldn't be farther from the truth; many days I ache for the kind people and slow pace and wide open spaces I left behind. I loved my two years in the Heartland.
But I am here now. And for the most part, I am happy. So I need to start talking more about the things I see and do, without worrying that I'm being rude or disloyal. I love Wisconsin, I love Boston; my heart is big.
I'm off to my sister's college graduation for the weekend (yay Briana!) but I'll be back on my game Sunday night. Cheers chums.

The Baby Page

Mathias Arthur Boehm!
7 pounds one oz. and perfect.

Cube Stakes

I've been temping for the publishing behooeymoth Houghton Mifflin for 4 days and they finally found some work for me to do. In honor of my newfound sense of purpose, let me share a few notes from my cube, the observations of a temp:

1. I liked it when the electric pencil sharpener kept trying to sharpen after the pencil was gone. A lady started freaking out.
2. I didn't like it when I had to keep borrowing someone else's ID card to use the bathroom on my first day. It was like a hall pass. Bethany's joke: "Didn't you just go an hour ago?"
3. I liked eating my lunch in the Boston Public Garden, watching the swan boats and the flowers and the people in love. I saw a little Russian girl feed bread to an ambitious squirrel, who took the food out of her hands while she squealed with delight.
4. I didn't like it when my "boss" took me around the office and introduced me to each person by saying, "This is Jesse. He's a temp, but the real temp will replace him next week." As you may imagine, this winning intro led to seductive winks from the ladies and high-fives from the dudes.
5. I liked it when Beth met me for lunch on Wednesday and Edda met me for lunch today. It gave me the sense of identity I lack here.
6. I didn't like coming back to work after my 2-hour breaks, only to find no one noticed my absence. It's like I'm not a real person. I think if the lunatic pencil sharpener sharpened me into a nubbin, they'd call maintenance to clean up my guts and get back to work. In the breakroom-
   Maureen: Did you hear? The temp got sharpened.
   Shelley: Are those new shoes?
7. I liked it this afternoon when a little baby was inexplicably crawling around the floor of the office, trying to pull apart the cubicle walls. It was like a little flower growing up through the cracks of a parking lot.
8. I didn't like my paper cut.

Summerville

Inman Square

I received a message in a bottle from Wisconsin today. Sorry to disappear, my friends. Now I'll tell you more than you ever wanted to hear.

Items:
-Everything in Boston is laid out in squares. Kendall Square, Harvard Square, Porter Square, etc. The thing is, the squares are actually more like octagons- six to eight different streets feed into each other and people honk and buses run into bikers and Jesse pretends not to be scared as he scurries across.
-I am close to Inman Square. I love walking in my neighborhood because people sit on their stoops and kids play ball in the park and flower petals fall from the trees. There are lots of Portugese and Brazilian people in this neighborhood, which means, among other things, that I get cheap Portugese beer and wine from Prospect Liquors. (By the way, I don't believe the liquor store in the above photo actually exists anymore. In fact, it's not a very clear or accurate portrayal of Inman Square. But what it lacks in truth, it makes up for in pretty.)
-I am on the wrong side of the tracks, apparently. Inman Square is in Cambridge (home of Harvard, hipsters and hoity-toity hooey.) If you walk one and a half blocks down to my house, you are in Somerville. My friend Jenny lives one and a half blocks in the other direction from Inman. Because she lives on the Cambridge side of the divide, she pays almost twice what I do for rent. I'm pretty sure it's jealousy and resentment that prompts Jenny and her Cambridge cronies to call my hood "Slummerville." I'm laughing all the way to the bank.
-I live with three guys. I had never met them before two weeks ago, but some of their friends knew some of my friends. Ramsey is Egyptian and he works as an IT guy at a non-profit agency. Vic builds underwater boats at MIT and he taught me how to play Bocci this weekend. Ben is in a rock band and he rides his bike everywhere in the city. They all enjoy:

• beer (they have a special little beer fridge, which Bethany said was a good sign because it means their real fridge is filled with food. True.)
• cookouts
• computers
• poking fun
• houseguests

I was going to talk about how I had a newspaper interview on Friday and how I'm temping at Houghton-Mifflin Publishing starting tomorrow, but now it's late and I have to get up soon.

Boa noite, a Portugese good night to all.