Yeah, yeah. Bad blogger. I know I've been tardy. But cut a girl some slack. I've been through wind storms and snow storms and power outages. It's been a rough month, yo. Let me catch you up on some of the stuff keeping me busy.
1. I'm addicted to The Wire.
I'm loving this show. I think I'm just about through season 3. And I learned new slang, spoken by Rhonda: "I see you dress left." This naive white gal right here may have rewound that and then paused and considered it for a moment. Then Googled it juuuust to make sure. Tee hee hee.
|What? This isn't how YOU watch The Wire? While stitching in a comfy chair?|
2. I've been cleaning up a LOT of vomit.
Little Millinocket is having a hard time keeping food down. I was finding vomit everywhere, mostly under my shoe, slipper, sock, whathaveyou. We had just gotten her bowels under control ("TMI, Mumma!"), and now we're working on the food thing. We eat a half portion and wait to make sure it stays down for about 15 minutes. Then we go back for the rest. In this way, she has become hobbit-like, following me back into the kitchen for second breakfast.
3. I heart the Boston Book Festival.
Loving the BBF every year! I listened in on a brilliant panel honoring the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. It was clear that the panelists were happy to be discussing it in Boston and not, oh, say, Mississippi. I know this because they pretty much said so.
Our distinguished speakers include Adam Goodheart, author of 1861: The Civil War Awakening; Tony Horwitz, author of Midnight Rising: John Brown's Raid and the Start of the Civil War, Charles Bracelen Flood, author of Grant's Final Victory, and Harvard president Drew Gilpin Faust, author of This Republic of Suffering. The session will be introduced and moderated by Annette Gordon-Reed, author of the Pulitzer Prize-winning The Hemingses of Monticello and Andrew Johnson. Sponsored by Liz and George Krupp.
4. Friends don't let friends go to Sephora alone.
Because I don't drink alone, after attending the BBF, I decided to go shopping. I am way too much of a hick now to be trusted alone in Sephora. I'm like a bird, drawn to pretty, shiny things.
|Once inside, it's every girl for herself.|
|A nail polish merry-go-round, people!|
|This is what happens when left to my own devices. Shameful, looking back.|
5. I totally occupied Boston.
I went from the pretty Copley Plaza area:
|Rocking the Au Bon Pain |
streetside on Boylston.
To the Occupy Boston scene:
|What is her point?|
|To the dude juggling, this is not|
--I repeat--NOT Lollapalooza.
A very cute hippie girl offered me an apple while I stood on the sidelines. I heard some people talking about war, and others discussing falafel. I think I'm getting old. I'm still a tree-hugging, bleeding-heart liberal. I just don't want to listen to someone who isn't old enough to vote but is living in a North Face tent on the Greenway.
6. I watched a man spit out his beer. Repeatedly.
I was in Salem, enjoying a sidecar at 43 Church,
This guy kept taking a swig of beer, then spitting it back in his glass. Watch the game for a bit. Swig beer. Spit. I know we're in a recession, but shit. No need to be drinking your beer three times.
The clouds were cool one day, and the leaves were almost past peak, so I went to Great Bay National Wildlife Refuge, where I saw absolutely no wildlife and wore the wrong shoes. Mental note: bring wellies next time.
|I lied; there were turkeys.|
8. I occupied Salem.
All the years I lived in Salem, I never went downtown around Halloween. I threw parties at my apartment instead. This year, with threats of terrible weather, I drove down from NH, hopped the train in Newburyport, took pics, and hooked up with friends for day drinking.
|1637 burial ground|
|These people are being swindled. |
I know b/c I used to work here as a tour guide.
Outside the old burial ground is a small park with these stone benches, each carved with a name of someone who was killed during the witch trials. Here is Rebecca Nurse:
Oh, and wait--what's this:
Awesome. Some fat bastard sitting on Giles Corey. Three hundred years later, and he's still groaning, "More weight..."
|So much better than those |
lame 2-D haunted houses.
|Oops, someone forgot something. |
|Whatchu lookin' at, Roger Conant?!|
|She just kept meowing. And people gave her money.|
|Don't fuck with a girl packing heat and drinking a martini.|
|"I'll eat your souuuul."|
|Noelle and Melanie getting their drink on.|
|Yes, some babies ARE ugly.|
A few raindrops in Salem became a snowy nightmare as the train pulled into Newburyport that night. Barely an inch on the ground and trees were down, cars were strewn all over the highway, and the power and heat were out at home. I spent about four days play-camping in my apartment. Long underwear, a serious sleeping bag, a wind-up radio, and a headlamp. I read three books. Not so bad.
Fuck, I don't have a #10. But I've already wasted enough of your time. Off to bed.