Monthly Archives: May 2012

May 30, 2012 · 4:04 pm

Journeys. (Or, getting a little meta.)

I knew I would miss it eventually!

Oh, it finally happened – my first real pang of homesickness for San Francisco. It happened while reading a Serious Eats post about a hamburger served on a doughnut, of all things. This is something I would never, ever eat, and honestly the restaurant sounds super-gimmicky, but I still clicked into the map to see where it was located (Hayes Valley), and as my eyes explored the familiar map I got a sense of, well, homesickness.  I think that this is kind of like when watching The Wire made me homesick for Maryland – I don’t miss living in a city with a carnival-themed restaurant, but I miss that neighborhood, and the friends who lived there, and the neighborhood near it, and the walk to there from my old neighborhood, and so on…

I think that some of this homesickness is also coming because I’m about to go into the next phase of this move – it’s now TWO DAYS before I get to move into my new apartment and start Cambridge life properly – and it has me reflecting on this whole experience thus far.

But while I sit back and reflect on my journey, I can say that it has made me all the more appreciative of the life-altering journeys that friends of mine are embarking on, and extra-more appreciative of those who are sharing their experiences with the world.

For example, my first non-Colleen (or Colleen-adjacent) friend in Boston, Laura, moved here from London last fall, and has been exploring this city and getting used to the charms (sometimes “charms”) of American life. You can follow her travels at BeanBoston

Then there’s my friend from Chicago, Kate, who quit her web job and traded in life in the big city to go to Thailand and teach English to kids. It’s been awesome to read her experiences in a culture so vastly different from our own (and surprising to see some of the similarities she has found!). Read about her experiences at KatesThaiPad

And finally, another friend from Chicago, Kathryn, is expecting her first  child in November. It’s fair to say that while it isn’t as big in terms of mileage as the rest of ours, hers is certainly the biggest journey of them all. Follow Kathryn, her husband, and child to-be-named-later at LittleBitsBlog

Kathryn, Kate, Kit, and me (Katie) a few years ago in Chicago.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention some great blogs about the smaller adventures that make up life. If you’re hungry, you should check out Colleen’s food blog, CulinaryColleen.com. It has tons of recipes ranging from every day healthy fare (lots of vegetarian dishes!) to special occasion meals. It also has a lot of restaurant reviews from her travels all around the country. For help dealing with a bad restaurant review, people might want to take a look at my (psychologist) mother’s blog about dealing with anger by understanding where anger stems from, Got-Wolf.com. If you want to work out that anger in the gym, check out high school friend Brie’s blog, RecipeForABeautifulLife. She’ll also give you great tips on what to wear to dinner!

So whether it’s relocating our homes to opposite ends of the world, or welcoming a new life into the home we already have, or just trying to figure out what to eat for dinner, it’s great to be able to follow along while friends reflect on their adventures, and I can’t wait to see where we all go from here!

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May 20, 2012 · 7:53 pm

Farm Sitting, Naturally

View from the back porch. Unreal.

Early on in my time living in Boston, over drinks at Colleen’s mother’s house, I was listening to her neighbors talk about the farm in New Hampshire that they had recently purchased and their plans to summer there and raise some animals. I half-jokingly offered up “I have years of farm experience, so let me know if you ever need a farm sitter,” not expecting anything to come of it. A week later Chris and Jim had booked me for a weekend of farm sitting in May. Or, as I like to think of it, a paid vacation hanging out with some very cool animals.

On Friday, after a short drive up 93 from Boston, I was in New Hampshire. I was prepared for it to be scenic, but I had no idea I was going to be spending the weekend in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. (See lead photo.) As Chris said, “I don’t want to offend anyone, but I’m pretty sure this is Heaven.”

Beyond the scenery, I got obscenely lucky with the weather. It was sunny and in the mid-high 70s all weekend, with a great breeze to keep the air fresh (and the allergies at bay). I know this sounds weird as someone who has done farm work in hot, humid summers since I was like 11, but I really hate wearing jeans when it’s that warm. So I went with an alternative outfit:

My two main charges for the weekend were not so much farm animals as they were the couple’s dogs, Oliver (Ollie) and Roswell (Ros). I’d met these dogs before and they were the perfect companions for the weekend. Playful, sweet, but also protective of me. Spending the night alone in the countryside makes me highly value a dog that will bark at anything foreign coming onto the property, no matter how ridiculous! We bonded over carrots (they like them as treats!) and have become friends for life.

Oliver and Roswell

Oliver is a Chow/German Shepherd mix, still puppy age. He’s the sweetest thing, and also a fantastic shepherd, which came in handy when I was trying to round up the other animals. I wish he was my dog.

Ollie!

Ros is a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, which is essentially a smaller, more energetic Golden Retriever. I’ve always loved this kind of dog, and Ros is the MOST playful dog I’ve ever met. Be careful if you ever throw a ball for him, because you’re signing away your next few hours… My right arm is actually sore from throwing so much this weekend – Ros took me way over 100 pitches!

Ros and the all important tennis ball.

And then, of course, there were the actual farm animals. They have a pair of lambs, a boy and a girl, and a goat named Precious (she came with that name).

And three chickens and a rooster. I call that group “the ladies.”

The ladies.

The ewe lamb is named Dolores, because of her markings. The only white on her is in the shape of a tear beneath each eye. The name Dolores means “sorrows” in Latin. Kinda perfect, huh?

Dolores’ tears.

The ruminants spend most of their time grazing on a hill. But you’d be surprised at how much they appreciate human (or dog) interaction. Precious loves going on walks, so we took a stroll up and down the 1/2 mile long driveway on Saturday. And the sheep are extremely curious and cuddly, and like to climb all over you if you let them. They kind of reminded me of curious kittens.

Whatchu lookin’ at?

Ollie and the lamb have a funny relationship. I think they’re trying to figure out some kind of pack pecking order, which is mostly leaving the lamb feel like he needs to charge/head-butt Ollie. This always leaves Ollie confused.

Beyond the head-butting episodes, the weekend was like an extended episode of Planet Earth. I encountered snakes, newts, chipmunks, an unlucky baby squirrel that was murdered by the cat, a turkey, and best of all, a MOOSE who strayed onto the property. (The dogs FREAKED out, incidentally.)

After the last chicken was put in the coop and the last flake of hay put into the manger, and as the crisper evening air set in, nothing was more welcome than curling up next to the wood-burning stove with a good book and a glass of wine. I always say that when it comes to city life vs. country life, I’m “all or nothing – nothing in between.” I love living in a fast-paced city surrounded by noises and clutter and things to do and people to meet.

But I’m also completely happy in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

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May 17, 2012 · 2:43 pm

Bonus Race – Philadelphia!

Ben Franklin Parkway

I woke up this morning missing Philadelphia so much that it actually almost hurt. I tend to get extremely nostalgic for PHL in the late spring and in the fall, most likely because these were the best times of the school year (and also the best weather).

Wouldn’t you know, this morning I was talking to Colleen when she said out of the blue, “Matt had the idea that I could run in the Philadelphia Marathon.” (Well, the marathon part wasn’t out of the blue. Just the Philadelphia part.) An idea bulb popped on in my head – it was kismet!

“Oh – they have a half-marathon** that day, too!” (Why do I know this? It is definitely a case of subliminal Facebook information absorption and recall.)

So we’re registered. And I am hella wicked PSYCHED. I’m still quite new to racing, so I haven’t had too many courses to geek out over, but this course is like a tour of my 5 years in Philadelphia! There is seriously only one stretch of land, around mile 10, that I don’t have a memory attached to, and who really pays attention to mile 10, anyway? Even better? The worst uphill of the race happens in the University City neighborhood, so I will be so distracted by seeing my beloved Penn that I will barely notice the incline!

Map courtesy of the Philadelphia Marathon. Generalized commentary courtesy of me.

It might sound strange to be this excited to run a race, but I think the circumstances are perfect. Because I’m already running the B.A.A. Half-Marathon in October (and the B.A.A. 10K in June), throwing on another race in November is no big deal, training-wise. I’m calling it my “bonus race.”

And there are even more upsides. I will be there to cheer on my best friend at the end of her first full marathon, in the city we became friends in. My parents will be able to make the short trip to Philadelphia from Annapolis. We’ll have the world’s easiest time finding amazing pre-race pasta for dinner on Saturday night (or maybe the hardest time choosing where to go out of all our favorites) and a guilt-free Sunday dinner in the city that turned me into a bona-fide foodie. Now that’s a homecoming!

**I would just like to point out here that I have no desire to run a marathon this summer. While I’m perfectly willing to dedicate up to 13 miles’ worth of time to training on a Saturday, that’s my limit. Having a full social life is just as high of a priority for me in this first Boston summer!

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May 13, 2012 · 5:52 pm

It’s Tribe Time

“It’s a long season, and you gotta trust. I’ve tried them all, I really have. And, the only church that feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the church of baseball.” - Bull Durham

As a member of the Church of Baseball, Friday night was a high holy day. My beloved Cleveland Indians were in town and I managed to score 4th row tickets right on the end of their dugout. I’d never been to Fenway before and was excited to check another ballpark off the list – but most of all I was excited to see the Indians in person for the first time this year. I watch them almost every day via MLB.tv, but it pales in comparison.

Now, my tickets were GREAT. Colleen and I got to the park early enough that I was down there during warm-ups, and since they had won the night before, everyone was in a good mood and was open to signing autographs (this is not always the case, especially with the Indians). I have this ball that was thrown to me by Asdrubal Cabrera at a game in Oakland last year, and brought it with me in case I could collect some extra signatures. At the start of the night, all it had was a lonely Lou Marson signature on it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of all the amazing moments, my personal highlight is seeing Justin Masterson, a starting pitcher (not for that night – I know better than to yell at a pitcher starting that night!), just hanging out in the dugout.

“Justin! Will you sign?”

“Sure, throw it!” At which point I made the worst throw of my entire life. I’m an athlete. I’m generally coordinated. I banked this thing off the dugout wall, and it fell to his feet… And he laughed at me.

“Hey, it’s not MY job!” was all I could come up with to say. Luckily I made the catch back. I would be embarrassed if I wasn’t sure girls were botching throws to him in every city.

Justin Masterson right under where the ball is…

After all of the excitement, this ball that had been thrown to me in Oakland and signed by Lou Marson in San Francisco was now signed by Justin Masterson, Johnny Damon, Shin Soo Choo, Jason Donald, and Casey Kotchman… And Lou Marson. Someday this will be signed by Pronk, Asdrubal, Tomlin, and Hannahan, but I am still so pumped about getting to meet so much of the team and having a souvenier!

Casey Kotchman, Justin Masterson

Jason Donald, Lou Marson, Johnny Damon

Shin Soo Choo

I realize I’m like a 12 year old boy.

Thrilled.

After all of this, it was finally time for the team to – you know – play some baseball.

The Celtic Superhero of the Cuyahoga

In the second inning, our third base coach got ejected for arguing a play. Because of this, we got our Manager coaching third base! It was kind of hilarious to watch him managing the game from third base.

Now, uh, managing third base… Manny Acta

When all was said and done, they lost. But they always lose when I go – my record is 0-many. The upside to this curse is that it no longer ruins my mood for them to lose when I’m there. So, in spite of this, this was a truly memorable night.

 

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May 4, 2012 · 12:03 pm

Friday Beer – Tales from a Perfect Dive Bar

“It feels like you’re drinking in someone’s basement.”

There are many types of bars. Speakeasies, swanky lounges, airport bars, beer bars, sports bars, wine bars, tequila bars – you name it and there’s a specialized bar for it. Like restaurants, these various types of establishments will go in and out of style and popularity.

Throughout time, however, one type of bar has remained unchanged: the dive bar.

Unpretentious, even neighborly, a great dive bar operates without a speck of irony. It is what it is – take it or leave it. And while I’m a fan of fancy places and certainly am a fan of places with nothing but craft beer on 100 taps, sometimes a dive bar is exactly what you want.

Last weekend, Colleen and I went to what I’m considering one of the best – truest – examples of a dive bar, at least that I’ve ever seen. We walked in and were immediately greeted with a cheery “hello!” from the gang seated at the bar. Everyone looked to be about 60 years old, men in their Red Sox/Celtics/Patriots sweatshirts, women in light denim and red lipstick. TVG – the channel for off-track horse betting – flickered on one TV, hockey and basketball on the other screens. A lotto ticket machine glowed in the corner. A fridge containing neat rows of beer and also what appeared to be someone’s lunch was on the back wall.

“Is this your first time here?” asked the group.

“Not mine,” said Colleen, referring to the visit she and her boyfriend had made the week prior, “but it’s hers.”

“I just moved here!” I offered.

“Oh yeah? Where from?” asked the man who had a presence that suggested he owned the establishment. It’s really difficult to tell who is working and who is a patron at any given point in time here.

“San Francisco.” Immediately the man launched into a full belt rendition of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” and we knew we were in for an experience.

Colleen has described this place as being “like drinking in someone’s basement,” and it really did feel like I was at one of my Catholic friend’s family party. The tables were covered in green vinyl St. Patrick’s day table cloths. The beer choices are limited – which would annoy me at a different kind of place – but a Sam Adams wheat was a fine choice in this situation. There were (shockingly vulgar!) sing-alongs sung and (shockingly clean!) jokes told. Near the end of our second beer, an old man came out from the kitchen carrying a tray of potato pancakes, some apple sauce, and some sour cream.

“Have some, girls!”

“Oh, no, thank you,” we said, suddenly shy. “Actually… I feel a little rude NOT taking any,” I whispered to Colleen. Family party etiquette had taken over. I got up and grabbed a small plate for us, and while the grease content in these things was enough to make even Paula Deen blush, they were delicious.

It’s easy to see how people can end up spending their entire afternoons in a place like this – one beer turned into two, which then turned into three (though at $3.50 a pop, this was no big deal). We went from feeling like interlopers to feeling like we had been accepted by this group of people who had clearly known each other for decades. This is the beauty of the neighborhood dive – things barely change. The people and this bar, to put it in biological terms, have reached symbiosis.

And it’s because of its similarity to a sort-of-ecosystem that I’m not going to share the name of this particular bar. I don’t want to throw off the symbiosis by inviting a bunch of invasive species into the midst. It’s too perfect of an example. But you can bet every penny you win off of that lotto ticket that I’ll be back to visit.

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