I am not one to let news tragedies affect me and certainly not the ridiculous media coverage that accompanies them, but the Boston Marathon bombing really jarred me. I’ve never felt such hopelessness in humanity. I cried on and off the whole day. What you are about to read is a re-post from almost a year ago about my first experience with traveling out of the south as an adult. It’s about the city of Boston as a place that holds special importance to me. It is a place where I conquered multiple fears at once, where I ejected myself from my comfort zone, and where I took risks. It is just such a stunning place, and in light of recent events, I just want to share this piece again. Thanks for reading.
I attempt frugality. As well, I pride myself in my research abilities (most of the time). So, when looking for a place to stay in Boston, I luckily found a steal of a crash pad. The place my friend Ellen and I stayed was The Copley House in the Back Bay area of Boston. After my friend in the area convinced me that it was in a safe area and conveniently located in the center of the attractions, I eagerly made a booking.
Instead of a full-blown generic hotel, each room they offered was an individual and unique apartment. After checking in to the main office on Newton St., we drove to our unit around the corner on a different street. Key in hand, we pulled up and grabbed our bags out of the bed of the truck. As I used my key to turn the old rim dead bolt, I felt like I was in a movie scene yet again. You know, the one where I am a successful full-time writer entering her humble city dwelling.
I almost feel like I am cheating readers by making such a lackluster claim, but the apartment we shacked up in was one of my favorite parts of the trip. I am so glad we did not opt for a cookie cutter corporate hotel. Not only would we have spent a fortune, leaving us little money for gorging Lobster and drowning ourselves in Irish car bombs, but the whole experience would have been completely different; think way less traditional character and a lot more generic plastic key card. Read the rest of this entry
Nine days. It had been nine whole days since I had so much as looked at the “add new” post button before I wrote my blogiversary post yesterday. Nine days in internet time is equal to about nine months in real-time. I could have had a blog baby for all you know. Don’t get any ideas, I wasn’t off making blabies. What I was doing was visiting with an incredible blogger from the Motor City. You probably know him as Adam from My Right to Bitch, The Artist Formerly Known as My Right to Bitch, or more recently Live From Motor City or maybe just that hilarious drummer dude that I was lucky enough to virtually drink fake sake with that one time.
That’s right, he drove
himself insane all the way down here to Louisiana to hang out, help me fix my poorly assembled bar stools (ten cool points for anyone who remembers this old ass post), drink beers with me and introduce Jack to the joys of chewing gum. The experience was well deserving of an Adamesque rock hand \m/ to say the least! And, in case you were wondering, he is just as attractive in person. Read the rest of this entry
Jen and I came to you last week with a proposal. We didn’t ask you to put a ring on it (us?), but we did ask you to hang out with us in real life. For internet people, this is almost the equivalent of committing to marriage. Luckily, you didn’t throw up, pass out, or flat-out say no. If you did, you hid it well and composed yourself before leaving a comment. This is a good sign.
So what’s next you ask?
Well, Jen and I gathered up the responses and made a list of where everyone is located. At first, I felt like I was a detective solving a murder by drawing connections on a map while smoking a lot of cigarettes in the dark. Then I just felt like I was a cyber stalker. Either way, it felt right.
There seems to be a great divide in the WordPress world. Half of you (who participated) are spread out on the West coast and the other half on the East coast. There were not too many bloggers located in the middle. I was, however, pleasantly surprised to see that a few other southerners popped out from behind their fried chicken and waffles to give a thumbs up for the meet up. *waves*
Here is what we are going to ask you to do next. There are three polls below for you to cast your vote on a location that we have picked. We performed all kinds of high-tech mapping strategies, statistics, probability reports, and background checks to narrow down the choices. We assure you that the options listed are in everyone’s best interest. SO, if you are a tentative “yes” for the meet up, then cast your vote now! Just state which location you would prefer the most in the comments.
Options for West Coast:
- San Francisco Bay Area
- Las Vegas
- Los Angeles/San Diego
Options for East Coast:
- Cincinnati, OH
- Boston, MA
- Altlantic City, NJ
- Charleston, WV
- Pittsburgh, PA
- NYC, NYC
- Houston, TX
- New Orleans, LA
- Atlanta, GA
- Blogger Meet Up 2013 (25tofly.com)
- Chicken ‘N Waffles on a Stick (instructables.com)
- Which Do You Prefer: Blogger Or WordPress? (renardmoreau.wordpress.com)
I am sure y’all remember that huge (imaginary) New Year’s meet up most of us partook in, even if you “don’t remember”. Although it was almost two months ago, I think it is safe to say its memory is still more enchanting than anyone could have fathomed.
Now, imagine if that had been real life. The sensation you just felt was the process of your mind exploding. But bare with me here.
Lately, I have noticed that a lot of mystical and cosmic encounters have been occurring among WordPress bloggers. While we were all getting classy-trashy at our party, Tracy spent New Year’s Eve with none other than Le Clown and his troops IRL. Vyvacious got to meet Sweet Mother and the fearless Jillian Levi last month. The same Jillian Levi who got to meet up with Calahan after that. I am still not over that one. Hell, even La La announced at one point that she received some free travel miles and took to Facebook to get suggestions on a destination.
What does this all mean, and why do I feel so left out? Besides the fact that I am totally left out. (I wear my tweets on my sleeve)
I began stewing. After that, I began high jacking Facebook comment threads with jealous rants. Then, I decided to stop pouting and do something about it.
I e-mailed Jen demanding that we organize a blogger meet up for 2013. I’m imagining something out of You’ve Got Mail, only you don’t have to make out with anyone at the end if you don’t want. You also won’t go out of business (if you have one). You will, however, have to know how to spell fox. That’s the secret password to get into the meet up.
Jen then pooped her pants in agreement. Thank god I had some baby wipes handy. We obviously make a great team, so we decided to join forces to make this blorgy happen. We would like to work on getting a census of where everyone is located, come up with a centralized venue that would be ideal for most of the bloggers interested, and of course pick some date(s).
BUT FIRST, we need to find out if this is something in which bloggers out there would actually participate. Are you pooing your pants in excitement like Jen, or would you rather remain loving your blog friends from afar? Much like that really rank smelling, yet extremely sweet and helpful cousin of yours. Maybe you don’t give a shit either way, but please humor us.
If you wouldn’t mind, please take a second and let us know by answering the poll questions below in a comment. Actually, you better do it or else I am going to high jack the comment section of your blog and continuously post Harlem Shake video links until the spam filter catches me. Or something.
To meet or not to meet? That is the question.
1. Would you be interested in attending a blogger meetup?
2. What is the closest metropolitan area to you?
3. If you are down, what other place(s) would you like to have a meetup?
- How to spot a blogger at ten paces… (lipsticking.com)
- Why Every Blogger Should Blog Outside the Comfort Zone in 2013 (weblogbetter.com)
- Security Bloggers Network Voting (psilvas.wordpress.com)
I am not one to let news tragedies affect me and certainly not the ridiculous media coverage that accompanies them, but the Boston Marathon bombing really jarred me. I’ve never felt such hopelessness in humanity and for many reasons. I think I cried on and off the whole day. What you are about to read is a re-post from almost a year ago about my first experience with traveling out of the south as an adult. It’s about the city of Boston as a place that holds special importance to me. It is a place where I conquered multiple fears at once, where I ejected myself from my comfort zone, and where I took risks. It is just such a stunning place, and in light of recent events, I just want to share this piece again. Thanks for reading.
I attempt frugality. As well, I pride myself in my research abilities (most of the time). So, when looking for a place to stay in Boston, I luckily found a steal of a crash pad. The place we stayed was The Copley House in the Back Bay area of Boston. After my friend, convinced me it was in a safe area and conveniently located in the center of the attractions, I eagerly made a booking.
Instead of a full-blown generic hotel, each room they offered was an individual and unique apartment. After checking in to the main office on Newton St., we drove to our unit around the corner on a different street. Key in hand, we pulled up and grabbed our bags out of the bed of the truck. As I used my key to turn the old rim dead bolt, I felt like I was in a movie scene yet again. You know, one where I am Carrie Bradshaw the successful/chic writer entering her
New York Boston apartment. I hate that I encompass that girly cliché, but alas, it is my chronic fantasy. And I am, in fact, a girl.
I almost feel like I am cheating readers by making such a lackluster claim, but the apartment we shacked up in was one of my favorite parts of the trip.I am so glad we did not opt for a Ramada Inn or some other cookie cutter corporate hotel. Not only would we have spent a fortune, leaving us little money for gorging Lobster and drowning ourselves in Irish car bombs, but the whole experience would have been completely different. Think way less traditional character and a lot more generic plastic key card.
We had the maximum amount of privacy. Hell, we barely even ran into any other guests staying in our building. We were tourists who didn’t have to look like tourists (at least until we spoke), and after a day of settling in we started to actually feel like we blended in. Before we knew it, we were eating clam “chowda” and drinking our pre-dinner cocktails at a tiny wooden dinner table by the window of our apartment that overlooked the street.
I particularly enjoyed morning coffee compliments of Dunkin’ Donuts (careful, they are hard to find if you don’t walk more than a foot). I’d enjoy my joe on The Stoop where I could take in the air and watch the Bostonians pass by and ignore me. I imagined what it would be like to be one of them. I assumed by the way most of them walked with such purpose and disconnect to anything other than their own path, that they grew up there. They went to school there and found their people there. City veterans, all of them. The Stoop was where I found excitement in their mundane.
I watched them briskly zip by in suits or saunter along walking their dogs, all while paying no attention to anything other than the gaps hiding in the brick sidewalk. At first, the detached demeanor of the people in the city had me disgruntled. For example, after a man bumped in to me in an old clothing boutique, I reflexively exclaimed, “Oh, I am so sorry!” as if it was my fault. Silence. I was invisible. This sort of thing just doesn’t occur in the South.
Like I said, at first this disconnect was unnerving, but the more I became immersed in the crowd, the flow of the city, and the collective feel of Boston, I began to enjoy their way. No one cares what you are doing, where you are walking, how you are walking, what you are wearing, or why you are even there. Everyone seemed dedicated to their own world and possessed no interest in invading another’s. It was a refreshing change from the over friendly, intrusive way of Southerners. The scope of the existing cultural polarity had really hit me, and it was just what I so desperately needed. It was more than lack of obligatory small talk. It was full opposition.
I could ramble on and on about the beautiful architecture of the old buildings and the rich historical scenery of Boston. Relishing in our field seats at Fenway Park was also well worth putting in to words. I could even elaborate on how wonderful the harbor is in person or the overwhelming beauty of viewing such a vast city from atop the Prudential Center, but I won’t. I wont, because sitting on that stoop at ground level with all of ordinary Boston surrounding me was, for me, more breath-taking than all of the main attractions. Just like the perfect air, I couldn’t inhale enough of ordinary Boston.
- Boston Globe – AS Roma gets a warm greeting in Boston (asromatimes.com)
- #WelcomeToBoston: What Advice Would You Give Someone New to the City? (bostinno.com)
- BostonFest 2012: Tell Us Why You Think #LifeisgoodinBoston! (bostinno.com)
[Hampton Beach sure did rock my world. That pun was just embarrassing. Can I get my groove back already?]
Northeast air seduced me from the moment I stepped out of Logan Airport. There was a blunt and intense sensation hitting me almost immediately that I could not ignore. I… I could breathe. The air was positively intoxicating as opposed to the suffocating sauna-like air that radiates the South. Instead of dragging around choking on the heat, I was frolicking about in a humidity-free trance. I couldn’t help but wonder how I might bottle it up and bring it home with me.
Rarely have I experienced a place with days warm enough to sport a tank top and shorts and nights that require a sweater (fleece jacket in my case). I always watched films in which this phenomenon occurred. The actress runs wildly in a bikini during the day scenes, and come nightfall, is cozied up in a big long-sleeved poncho on a porch somewhere. It always confused me. Now, I had full understanding of the different weather outside of Louisiana’s inferno. It is safe to say I fell in love with this aspect of the North, and I also must say my hair was looking mighty lustrous minus all the frizz action.
The beach in New Hampshire, where we spent a day before storming the city of Boston, was unlike any beach I’d ever seen. Read the rest of this entry
[It is official. I am experiencing PVD. For those of you who are unfamiliar, post vacation depression is a very real and debilitating condition. While it is not fatal, those who suffer from it often wish it was.]
As I return to my abandoned blog, as well as reality, I am finding it harder than expected to jump back into motion. It is kind of like the water up in New Hampshire on Hampton Beach. It was so frigid that I couldn’t do anything other than slowly ease myself in to each new wave. Even then, with each step deeper I was getting slapped with a little more of the arctic liquid than I anticipated.
I worked pretty feverishly on some projects before I jumped ship (which I am hoping to have word on soon), so the disconnect I enjoyed and carefree role I assumed in Boston were quite liberating. Alas, it is time to soldier on. I will be working on a series of posts featuring the parts of my trip that were (in my mind) the most significant. I’ll also be walking around confusing people by saying things like, “that’s wicked, y’all”.
- Looking for Clean Beaches? New Hampshire’s Rank Among the Best in the Nation (bostinno.com)
- New England’s Most Epic Sand Castle Competition Offers $15,000 in Prizes [Images] (bostinno.com)
- NH celebrating spruced up Hampton Beach (wmur.com)
You have reached my blog answering machine. Leave a message after the
beep comment box. I am currently off running around in a Red Sox cap.
[See it is true. I am not just screening your
- Red Sox Live Blog: Carl Crawford Batting Second in Return, Kevin Youkilis Back in Boston With New Sox (nesn.com)
- Out To Lunch (getsecondlunch.com)