A Letter to the T

Dear Tina,

I really want you to know what happened tonight on the 39. I was on the 39 bus and the back of the bus had number 1021 on it at 7:15 p.m. I got on at Copley Square, headed outbound for Forest Hills.

We stopped at the stop right before the Stop & Shop. The corner of Exeter Street and Huntington Ave. I was way in the back of the bus, and there was a long delay. I got up to see what was happening and saw the driver on her cell phone on the sidewalk. Outside the bus, there was a woman in a mechanical/electric wheelchair. I asked her what was going on. She told me the driver wouldn't pull the bus out a bit to lower the lift to let her on.

That corner has Huntington, and then a little side road that also cuts in there. The driver kept saying that she couldn't pull out into traffic. She told the woman she would have to go to the next stop, all the way down on the other end of the Pru where the duck boats load. The woman kept telling her that cars are always parked there and it's worse. The driver kept talking on her phone and refusing to lower the lift. The driver got back on the bus and got ready to drive away. The woman in the wheelchair began heading across the street and then came back and knocked on the door. I said to the driver "WHere do you want her to go, I'll walk with her." The driver ignored me and then left the bus again, and entered a yelling match with the woman, who was insisting that she could be picked up here and the driver telling her no.

At this point, I decided to get off and walk. I didn't want to be on a bus with a driver who didn't think it was her responsibility to pick up a disabled passenger at whatever stop they were at. A photographer came up at that point and took photos of the woman and the driver having words and then claimed he was from the Herald. When I walked away, he was kneeling down talking to the woman. God knows what'll be in the Herald.

It is bad enough that the T is so inaccessible to those who are disabled already. There are many many subway stations that are not accessible. It takes a lot longer for someone in a wheelchair to get somewhere in this city. And, fine. I know you are making improvements. But, people in wheelchairs should ALWAYS be able to enter a bus that is equipped with a lift. I don't see what anything (cut in the sidewalk, etc.) has to do with it. And they should not be asked to put themselves in harms way crossing streets or whatever to get on the bus. Bus stops should be RE-ASSESSED to ensure they are accessible.

That bus driver was ill equipped to deal with the situation. She blocked traffic, held up passengers and did not handle the situation well. She needs some sensitivity training, because not once did she apologize to the woman or try to explain the shortcomings of accessibility to her. She only said that she was trying to help her and that it wasn't going to happen, as if the woman's disability was an inconvienence to her and something to be fixed rather than her responsibility as a T employee to be accessible to all.

Thank you for listening.

Karen
Monthly pass holder

The Idiot Box

I've almost completely stopped watching TV. I never thought it possible. After years as a junkie, I've gone almost completely off the juice.

I am dedicated to only three shows, two of which won't start up again until January 2008 (Lost and The Amazing Race). The third begins in September (Grey's Anatomy). I am considering adding a fourth (Private Practice, the Grey's spin-off Kate Walsh vehicle), but we'll see how that goes.

Not having cable has partly precipitated this and it being summer and light out till 8 is responsible for the other part. I wish daylight savings would just get on the fast train outta here so we can have sun and no reason to turn on the tube.

Right now, I'm watching the end of Two and a Half Men, which is a stupid show that is actually funny. This is how they get us. Even when it's stupid, it's usually somewhat funny. This is the first time I've turned on the set in about 3 weeks or so. I'm turning it off.

Don't think I'm all high and mighty (like, you watch too much TV and I'm better because I don't engage in all that crappy stuff) since I paid $14 including parking to watch an extra-long Simpsons episode masquerading as a movie on Friday night.

So there you go.

This feeling I get....

Ever since I was small, when someone had come to visit and then left, I felt really sad (most of the time it was my Auntie Patti, since she was really the only person in my life that lived far away when I was small and would come to visit and then leave again). I remember distinctly, all through school, not being sure what the feeling was. I remember telling my mother I felt "weird" or "funny". I think it was a lack of understanding about what sadness felt like, since I lived a particularly charmed life and rarely felt sad.

This sadness has always manifested itself physically for me. It sits in my chest and rumbles in my belly. It makes my heart beat faster and it feels sort of like low-level flu. No wonder I never knew how to describe it to my mother. How does an 11-year-old describe an emotion that is rearing it's head physically?

As I got older, the feeling continued. Usually far worse when someone had been to visit me as opposed to the other way around. For whatever reason, when I visited others and then left to go back home (or visited home and left to go back to wherever I was living), the feeling was never as strong. I did that a lot in my 20s, since I lived far away from most family and friends for the better part of a decade. I think it was because I was going back, to where my life was, which I missed, and that made the sadness of leaving people I loved less pointed; less strong.

I begun have the feeling when I leave a place, too. Every weekend, when we, as a family, would travel to Vermont to ski, and then on Sundays head back home, I would have a twinge of that ever-growing-more-familiar feeling of sadness. I hated leaving Vermont and the friends and famiy who we spent time with there. Nobody lived there; everyone lived back where we did, so it wasn't the people I was mourning. I was sad about leaving Vermont and the snow and the relaxation. The sadness I feel driving home on Sundays from Vermont has strengthened as I've gotten older. My friend Kathleen understands this feeling because she gets it too. We will often say "I have that leaving-Vermont feeling" and each of us knows explicitly what that means.

I still hate this feeling - this sadness that pulls at me. My sister visited this weekend and stayed at my house in Boston. Since she lived with my parents close by Boston for 3 years leading up to getting married and has been in NJ this past year, I think this is the first time she's stayed over with me in a long long while. We've slept in the same place in that time, but not in my house. It was really nice. And when I left her off at the bus station at mid-day, the icky feeling enveloped me as I drove away. It's silly, since I will see her again next weekend when she and her husband come up for the weekend. I tried to talk myself out of it; I stopped at the SOWA Artisan fair to distract myself; but as I sit here and write this about 2 hours later, I still have the feeling in my gut.

I suppose I should be grateful. This feeling is a wonderful indicator for me of what is really important to me - of what I really love. It has given me information over time. I used to sign my emails home when I lived abroad "Love and Missing" because for me, loving someone in a closing is nice, but missing them is much more of a compliment.

I really enjoy having people come to visit. I welcome them with open arms, but I still have to prepare myself for when they leave and the bitter-sweet sadness that will come with it. When I forget to prepare, like this morning, it's harder to shake. I'm off myself today, on a trip to Atlanta for a training. Hopefully the hustle and bustle of that trip will distract me. I think it will.

Sicko

I went to see Michael Moore's latest installment, Sicko, on Friday night. True to form, at the Coolidge Corner Theatre (a non-profit theatre) at 10 p.m., the theatre was almost full.

Let me first say that I am a pretty big Moore fan. I have liked all his films, from Roger & Me to Bowling for Columbine to Farenheit 9/11. I haven't seen his two earlier films.

I understand that his "documentaries" are really commentaries. Those who say he is one-sided are, I believe, missing the point. He intends to be one-sided. He sets out to tell a story, using facts, from the side of the story he believes needs telling. On his website, he provides factual back up for the claims in his films and he has challenged others to find factual errors in his films. Occasionally, someone says they found a fact error and a whole brouhaha ensues. Whatever. We are fed misinformation every day in various forms. I think that those who complain that his films are one-sided just don't really want to see the side he is showing. They would prefer to not have to think about "it" (whatever the it is in each case).

I went to see Sicko the same way I see all Moore's films. I walk in assuming that I will agree with him and that I will cheer for his pokes at our government and that I will enjoy comradarie with those in the theatre with me (since most people who go are somewhat like-minded, even more so at the non-profit theatre in Brookline where I tend to see a lot of things). I also walked in assuming that I would be angry during the film and afterwards, as I usually am. Moore is not the only one who does this to me. Super Size Me and Walmart: The High Cost of Low Price both did it to me as well. I get all worked up over the injustice in the world and the things that our regulatory boards allow, etc. etc.

Usually I'm fine. Bowling for Columbine was hard to watch in parts, obviously, as was Farenheit 9/11. But this one made me cry. A lot. I think that my state of mind is different this time around because I feel such dispair about the war and the Bush Administration. Every time I turn around, some other atrocity is happening (Bush pardons Libby, he vetos yet another effort to end this "war", some Republican yells on the floor at all the Democrats who are "only trying to end the 'war' in an effort to make a political statement" (what?), and another teen is killed in Boston in a senseless homicide). I've been overwhelmed for a while now, counting the days until this Administration is gone (wearing my 01.20.09 button proudly on my bag), thinking that once it's out, all our troubles will be fixed. This, of course, is the delusion that we Democrats have created to help us deal with the delusions that are being baraged at us daily. We are probably in for a lot of surprise and frustration come '09 and '10 and more.

But I digress. I am someone who has stated, in public, often, that I would gladly pay much higher taxes a la Sweden or France if I knew that everyone was getting health care and everyone was getting college paid for and everyone was getting support. I am a Democratic Socialist and have been as long as I can remember. So, watching Moore talk to Canadians, and French, and British folks about their socialized medicine and education was tough. Then he talked to ex-pat Americans in France and that was even harder. It made me want to defect. To leave. To go live in one of those places where I can participate in this kind of system.

Moore, in a very Moore-like move, gathers a bunch of people who are suffering from ailments and can't get their insurance to cover what they need, and takes them on a boat from Miami to Cuba. He tries to get them into Guantanamo, where detainees get better health care than your average HMO covered American does, and when that fails, ends up in a Cuban hospital. Since three of his bretheren are 9/11 volunteers suffering from ailments caused by the smoke and rubble, the emotional capital is clear. But the care these folks received in Cuba, that's what made me cry. I don't care if the whole thing was staged for the movie. I don't care if they paid off the doctors there to see these folks to make a point. What I care about is that Cuba has fine medical equipment, fine doctors who know what they are doing, physician training programs (there were 4 young Paraguayans from my town in Py who were studying in Cuba for free and then were coming home to Py to be doctors), and one of the lowest instances of HIV infection (.1%) in the world.

Go ahead, make your points about Fidel and how Cubans' lives are run by the Government and goddamn it, I'd rather be free! Go ahead. I won't try to stop you. But I will point out that I'd take it. Who cares if the government has control over some things? They already control enough. If it meant that I knew that even if I left my job I'd still have healthcare and that the family down the street whose Dad just got laid off doesn't have to worry about losing their house because Billy just broke his arm, I'd take it.

Go ahead, talk crap about the French. Talk about how they don't like us. Got anything else? I didn't think so.

Go ahead, talk about how our privatized medicine means that we have a longer life expectancy. I'd say: France, Sweden, Canada, Australia, and the United Kingdom all have higher life expectancies than we do and they all have socialized medicine.

Go ahead, say how we innovate more than other people. That we invent more. That our education system is amazing. That we can earn more money and live easier, cusher lives than anyone else on the planet. Okay. Then tell me who gets to do those things. The rich and sometimes the middle-class. Nobody else. The split between the rich and poor in this country is getting bigger and bigger each year. The cycle of poverty is reaching unbreakable proportions. Privelege is a requirement to get anywhere in this country, increasingly.

Wow. I think I'll step down off my soapbox now (even though it is a borrowed soapbox since even I, with my two degrees and middle-class upbringing, can't afford my own) and finish up.

Watch Sicko. Read A Thousand Splendid Suns (to learn about civilians in Afganistan and why bombing the hell out of a country for their government's policies isn't always a good and fair and just idea). Stop watching Fox News. Listen to the BBC on your local National Public Radio (NPR) station. Let's stop letting the government scare us. And as Moore said in the film, "Why aren't we taking care of each other?" Let's take care of each other in whatever way we can each day.

Let the Wonder Never Cease

I have been talking non-stop about my green beans. They are growing like crazy. Here are some highlights of what silliness has ensued from them. One wouldn't think green beans could illicit silliness, but then one would be wrong.

1. My parents had a discussion they then told me about about how great it is to have a daughter who is so amazed by small things. Great, I said, you had a discussion about how I'm small minded and possible mentally retarded?

2. My first harvest was 6 green beans. I told people about that. I hadn't continued to bore them with the harvest numbers for each day after that, so my brother-in-law at one point said "She's excited about 6 green beans." He thought I was an idiot for being so excited about only growing 6 green beans.

3. I brought a few in a baggie to share with family. My sister asked if they'd been washed (she's particular about these things). I lied and said yes. She found out the next day I lied. I figure nobody is spraying pesticides on my deck.

4. My dad said "I don't like raw green beans." I made him have a bite anyway. He then said "It would be great if it was cooked."

5. My brother's girlfriend took a bite and said "It tastes like dirt. Can we cook them?"

6. My mother found a sign (a gorgeous wooden, painted sign made in Minnesota) in a store in Perkins Cove, Maine that said "Let the Wonder Never Cease" and insisted on buying it for me as a housewarming gift. I moved in February and she bought me a coffee maker then. (She often makes up reasons to buy me things because she knows I can't allow her to buy me a $28 sign for no reason. She clearly needs to brush up on her bag of reasons to buy me presents if she's reaching back 5 months to my last apartment move.) I refused to let her buy it. She asked the guy who owned the store to get it down because I wouldn't help her and she is too short to have reached it. Long story long, it's hanging in my living room. It's great. I love it.

7. I had given my aunt a dinner together for Mother's Day. We were meant to do it while she was visiting over the 4th of July. Scheduling prevented the dinner. I couldn't figure out what to give her. So I gathered some beans, tied them with a ribbon, shellacked the hell out of it and told her it was a little bit of wonder. She loved it.

I hope everyone finds something as simple and beautiful as green beans to get excited about this summer.

Mantra: (Sanskrit) literally a 'sacred utterance'

Back in LA, in another life, eons ago, I and my friends developed a yearly mantra in lieu of resolutions to welcome the New Year. The one I remember best? "No Shame No Apologies" 1999's mantra. Since leaving LA, travelling the world, living in another country and recreating a life stateside, I have fallen, quite thoroughly, out of that habit. So thoroughly, in fact, that I had entirely forgotten about it until recently.

I've been thinking a lot lately about where I am in my life (as any reader of this blog knows) and have just owned the fact that I am often guilty of fighting the universe, fate, God, whatever you wish to call it. I often choose to invoke "the Universe" in these types of discussions, such as "I'm putting it out into the Universe," or in giving advice: "The Universe will help you in whatever way it can," or in my reasoning in making decisions, "The Universe will look out for me." This is simply a way of my invoking something bigger than I.

I adopted this wording back in 1997 or so when I first discovered The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho. In this fantastic fable, the Brazilian author centers the boy's story around the idea that if you really want something, the Universe will conspire to help you get it in whatever way it can and that following your dreams and listening to your heart is important above all else.

I have made an effort to live a life based on this principle, and have succeeded in many ways. I have quit jobs, packed my bags, left unhappiness behind, bought plane tickets to Bolivia, pursued learning Spanish as an adult, been honest, spent time with children, emailed even when I was tired, and shared my life with many. I make good, mature decisions and I have had fantastic jobs, fulfilling experiences, and I am creative and alive.

I have also failed. I worry a lot, I don't have enough money to be truly free, I have negative message tapes that play regularly in my head telling me I am not good enough, thin enough, and my personality is too strong for anyone to truly love or tolerate me. I am careful in my interactions with other people to ensure I don't say or do anything to offend them. I hold back from acting as my real true self in front of new people in case they won't like me. I am told sometimes that I should do something different than I am doing by those who I'm sure mean well. I don't really feel like an adult some of the time because I am single and rent. I cannot maintain a romantic relationship -- or, in fact, even find one.

I recently placed myself on the DL, the disabled list, of dating. I was going to really spend the summer playing the game, walking the walk, dating anyone who wanted to go out. But when I assessed the first six or eight dates versus how I could be spending the summer playing outdoors, canoeing, travelling to NYC to visit my sister, visiting the Edward Hopper exhibit at the MFA, seeing Martha's Vineyard for the first time, Ziplining with friends and more it was a no-brainer. To say no to any of that and instead go on a date with a stranger wearing pants that are too short or who wants me to look at real estate on the first date would be stupid, I decided.

But then I beat myself up over that. How, I thought, will I find love and happiness without trying? Without controlling it? Without trolling two or three dating sites every day? How?

I took a moment to breathe and I thought of the Universe. It has gotten me everything else I've wanted. It's been there for me in Asia and seen me hired as a divemaster when they weren't really hiring. It was there to see me admitted into the best grad program in my field. It was there to find me a car in only 2 days after returning from the Peace Corps. It was there when I decided to enter the PC and when I decided to leave. It has rarely failed me. Why then, am I fighting it on this one? On the big one? On love? Perhaps there is a plan, larger than I, that I do not know about. Perhaps trusting more will serve me well.

And so, because I do not want to word a mantra negatively ("Don't fight the Universe") I have instead chosen to "Trust the Universe". Even though it isn't the New Year, it isn't the beginning of 2007, this will be my 2007 Mantra. When the negative tapes start playing, I will remind myself to Trust the Universe. When I am panicking because I haven't been on a date in a few weeks, I will remind myself to Trust the Universe. I will try not to control it so much. I will try to only look in my planner a couple times a day instead of every hour. I will not worry about who is sleeping at my house after the Red Sox game with cousins who are visiting because it just really doesn't matter. I will Trust the Universe.

This is not going to be easy. I might fail. As always, though, it's about the trying and if I really want it, I trust that the Universe will conspire to help me get it in whatever way it can.

Photo fun

Here are some photos I've taken recently. I'm having a great time playing with the camera and light and shadows and nature, especially.

I'm Published Elsewhere!

I found this great blog called The 15 Minute Dating Blog: True Dating Horror Stories and Tips from Real People. So I submitted. It went up today!

Check it out HERE.

Rolling for Autism

There are a group of Union College students (my cousin Lauren is one) who are working on fundraising for Autism. There is a group of them who, after graduation this Sunday, will embark on a rollerblading journey from Florida to Maine to raise money and awareness.

Check out their YOUTUBE video.

Log on to their WEBSITE for more information or to make a donation. They have a goal of $500,000.

Ways to know you are getting older...

1. Your knees hurt in the morning when you walk down the five flights of stairs to leave your apartment.
2. You notice more and more strands of grey/white/silver hair each week.
3. You think short skirts and short shorts are better left to the young.
4. You can't sleep past 7, even on a weekend, even if you were out drinking the night before.
5. Speaking of drinking, you just can't put them away like you used to, or if you do, you seriously pay for it the next day.
6. You cannot take a red-eye flight from the West Coast and go straight to work that morning and actually make it through the day.
7. You notice dust and dirt and grime in your kitchen, living room, bathroom like you never have before.
8. You read the real estate notices and think how nice it would be to own something.
9. You get excited because your radishes are growing.
10. You max out a ROTH IRA every year.

The first Spring

This is going to be my first Summer in 2 years. I missed last Summer completely, being gone from Memorial Day to Labor Day. I've just realized that I feel anxious about it. Through the anxiousness about Summer, though, is a true love that has developed for Spring.

I find myself thinking that Fourth of July is just around the corner. Now, one could make an arguement that it is, but I've been thinking this since early May. And I somehow feel like after that, Summer is over, when really, it's just begun.

Then I find myself worried about the heat. I haven't been really really hot since 2005. (It was hot in Paraguay, for sure, but it was still their Winter, and so even then it was 90, it would be 40 again three days later and so it just doesn't count.) I hate the heat. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Would rather be caught in a snowstorm and freezing than hot.

I have always loved the Winter best, and then had sort of a back-of-my-mind appreciation for Spring. This year, though, it's been different. I still loved the Winter, but it was my third in a row, and somehow the lead up to it wasn't as amazing. It just seemed regular and inevitable. Spring this year, though. Wow.

I've noticed the budding of everything. I've stopped short on the sidewalk to look at an unusual flower. I've stopped to try to count the snails on my plants along my front stairs and given up because there were too many. I've taken photograph after photograph of the sunset from my front porch. I've planted vegetables and just two days ago, harvested 5 of the the most beautiful, red radishes you ever saw. I took photos of a tree as it passed through phases of budding and blooming and growing a new coat of leaves for the season. I revitalized a plant that was left on my deck all Winter and have revelled every afternoon in feeding it and in how well it is doing. I have gone out during lunch for walks in downtown Boston just to appreciate what 72 degrees feels like. I have had my first pedicure of the season and have begun shaving my legs at least twice weekly, something I haven't done for more than a year.

Tres inviernos (three Winters) has really shifted how I appreciate the Spring because it has such an important job. It leads us into Summer. Gently, easily, and with grace. It takes us to the 90s and back down again to the 60s as prep work for heat to come back later. It makes us suffer the rain so we can appreciate the green that will come of it. It warms us during the days and treats us to perfect cool sleeping nights. It asks us to pause for a moment and appreciate nature. It invites us to wear less clothing, smile at passers-by and flirt with good looking members of the group attractive to us. It gives us more sunlight; earlier mornings and later nights.

I'm so glad that I've been effected enough by my three Winters to really appreciate the Spring in a whole new way. I feel like someone who has lived her whole life in the tropics or Siberia and is for the first time, experiencing Spring. What a gift.

Voting on Rights is Wrong

Go here to watch the commercial.

Donate money (matched till June 1 by an anonymous donor)or time.

This is important. June 14, legislature will decide if this will go to the ballot or not. Let's help make sure it doesn't.

If I let it go...

Dating season has only been open since the middle of March, and already I am losing steam. I am no Dice-K, that's for damn sure.

First there was the man who after two dates and in preparation for the third told me he wasn't looking for a relationship because he was coming out of a year and a half of serious depression. I didn't judge then and I don't now, as his issues are his to deal with as he chooses. But spending time one-on-one regularly with someone my age, who is a man, and who is attractive and calling it friendship is not on my list of things to do. Fake-dating sucks, no matter how you cut it. So I bailed.

Then there was the guy who spent 3 hours buying me beers and having a great conversation who hugged at the end and agreed to the statement "We should do this again." An email thanking him for that night and a phone call later blatantly asking him out resulted in a returned call 7 days later. That call was a 20-minute chat-up with no mention of why I had called to begin with. From there I saw him at two work events (long story why), one where he fetched me a beer and asked for my opinion on a mother's day gift for his mom and one where he mostly ignored me but then sought me out to say goodbye and threw in a "Hey, baby, I'm leaving" for, I don't know, good measure? Crazy.

At the insistance of a good friend, I finally cracked and paid for Boston.com personals and 6 weeks later have been on only 3 dates from that little foray. For the most part nobody is interested in actually meeting. Some just email you occasionally and others look at your profile every day or so (you can see who has looked at you) and never email you. One guy suggested a phone call, but then he told me he works a second job at night a lot because he has so much credit card debt to pay off (he's 37 and owns a house). Then I still decided that he might be worth a coffee or beer, and asked him to suggest a time, but he never did. One guy I had two dates with, the second of which ended with me offering him a ride home and then sitting outside his house chatting in the car. Note to all the male readers out there: when a woman offers you a ride home, and you arrive there, you have two choices. One, invite her up. Two, get out. There is not a sit-in-the-car-and-chat choice. Another guy was a fine lunch date but was 26 and British and only here for the year and it was clear from the start it wasn't going anywhere. Not convinced that paying for dating is the way to go, but my subscription is through July 2, so we'll see.

Then I had a race relations fight over IM. I kid you not. He's in London and I here, and over an IM session (which, by the way, I hate more than phone calls) he mentioned that he'd rather be lucky than smart. I said that I thought luck was largely a result of hard work with potentially some privelege thrown in. He asked my definition of privilege, I defined it as having resources, support, and things such as race and gender assignment by accident of birth and/or parentage. He asked why I use "gender" instead of "sex" and I said because I think "gender" is more inclusive, allowing for a continuum rather than simply "male" or "female". He said, and I quote, "deconstructive masking by disguise. egregious pc-ism makes one's teeth itch, or should." The final result of the discussion is that he said that none of his success is due to his being white or male and that anyone who believes that is Marxist. So there you go with that one.

Then I read through a whole bunch of Craigslist posts by my peers (women from 30-38 years old) and found them so picky and unbelievable, that I cut and pasted a bunch of sample sections and sent them to my brother, sister, mother, and girlfriend-in-law to prove my unpickiness. A hilarous day of emails back and forth about the stupidness of said women as well as my sharing the post I put up ensued. There were opinions about which response I got was best and who I should respond to. At one point, my brother's girlfriend emailed "Where is everyone else?" because only she and my brother had responded for the better part of a half hour. His response, "Probably working." Ah, what our bosses don't know.

I agreed to a phone call with one guy who seemed sweet and whose emails were very nice, well written, and was responsive. The phone call was fine. But he asked twice, not once, twice, over email if I had put him under speed dial or only under the first letter of his name. Chill, dude. The fact that you are even in my phone is far more a result of technology driven laziness than of anything else.

I went on a spontaneous same-day date (which every rule book of dating says you shouldn't do) with another guy and had a fine conversation, interesting evening and ended it with a kiss he requested as a test for whether we had chemistry (all lovely things). However, that kiss required me to drive through a lot of what I call stop signs (you know, those red flags that show up on dates and you know you should listen to and instead you just go "oh, what the hell, no worries, it'll be fine!"). First stop sign: when he sat down and I said, "Should we order a beer?" he said, "What do they have?" and then sat there, making no move to go to the bar to get us beers, and let me get them. Stop sign 2: When I was up at the bar ordering the beers he should have been getting, he yelled over, "Will you get me loaded fries, too?" Apparently we don't drink a few sips while perusing the menu together. That was for the 1950s. Stop sign 3: He was wearing a t-shirt, plaid short sleeved button down open over it (that's okay) and wait for it: dark pants, white socks and black shoes. And when I finally saw him standing when he headed for the bathroom, anyone could clearly see his pants were far too short (and this man was 2 inches shorter than I am and last I checked, men are able to buy their pants by the number of inches of length they need). I agreed to a second date with him because he very gallantly invited me to a movie on Sunday night and I decided that everyone needs a second chance to wear pants that are long enough. He arrived at that date looking like death warmed over, and after not waiting for me to arrive at the pizza place before getting in line to order his slices, I offered him a pass on the date to go home and sleep, since he clearly needed it. (To his credit (possibly?), he did share he has insomnia issues and lost his medication on the way home from having the prescription filled). After he was far enough down the street, I snuck back to the movie theatre and saw the film on my own. (Hey, I'd been dying to see it!)

So, here I am. Two and a half months into dating season and already exausted. I might place myself on the DL. I might just decide to forget it.

Then I saw a movie tonight called Away From Her. It's based on a short story by Alice Munro called "The Bear Came Over the Mountain" and it's about a couple that's been married 44 years when she is hit with early onset Alzheimer's. It was really beautiful. At one point, he asks her, in regards to missing a friend at the home who has moved back home with his wife, "Can't you just let it go?" and she says, "If I let it go, it will only hit me harder when I bump into it again." Well, shit. Isn't that the truth.

So now what? If I let this go, again, and not be active in my seeking of a partner for this life, when I bump into being lonely again in 3 or 6 or 9 months, won't it just hit me harder? Probably.

I keep up a sense of humor because it's necessary. And in truth, this whole thing is funny. But it's also sad. I saw a graduation card yesterday while shopping for one for a cousin that said "Remember that no matter what you think now, it's better to be loved than to be rich." Yes. And what if I'm never right and truly loved? What if that happens?

There's a lot of questions no matter how I look at this. And I guess that right now the question is, do I let go and risk the harder bump later or do I carry on? To be really honest, right now, at 10:55 p.m. on a Monday night. I'm seriously not sure.

Save Gay Marriage

Please take the 10 minutes to watch this video.

Better Angels

As we move towards a possible vote on the Constitution of Massachusetts, which could possibly reverse the legalization of gay marriage, I am finding it increasingly important to work against this ever happening.

MassEquality is taking donations, volunteers, and encouraging us to contact our legislators.

If you believe that civil rights should not be voted upon by the general population and if you believe that the Constitution should not be used to take away rights, then you can support this issue.

If you believe that love is love, regardless of who is doing the loving, you can support this issue.

If you believe that family is family regardless of the gender of those involved, then you can support this issue.

If you believe in us as humans and in people as free, you can support this issue.

Thanks.

Things to be happy about:
- it is finally sunny again.
- it is warm!
- i planted vegtables (radishes, cukes, green beans, basil, parsley and tomatoes) on my deck this morning.
- i am super healthy.
- my work is meaningful and i'm good at it.
- my family is really great. (lots of people say that, but i mean it, and it's true).
- i live in a really nice apartment with a nice roommate and it's in the city i love that is my home.
- i have about 30 people i could call if i really needed help in an emergency.
- i have enough money to feed myself, put a good roof over my head, drive a reliable car, ski all winter, go travelling, and more.
- my body does what i want it to, for the most part.
- i am smart. i can t hink critically and have an open mind.



Things to be sad about:
- i can never, in the forseeable future, buy a house (it is financially impossible for me).
- i have to keep dating if i am ever going to find my damn husband.
- i am a little bit jealous of my siblings, who both have someone to love and who loves them.
- i am scared of one of my parents dying and not being prepared to emotionally support the one left behind.
- we live in a country that apparently thinks fighting is the way to get things done.
- we live in a country where violence is really out of hand.
- innocent people are dying, here and elsewhere.
- i, once again, weigh about 20 punds too much and unless i diet for the rest of my life, which includes never eating another cookie or french fry, i probably will continue to.
- stupid american ski corps sold off killington and mt. snow and we still don't know if passes will be affordable next season.
- i am alone.
- i am sometimes lonely. this is new.
- not enough people notice the beauty around us every day.

As far as pro/con lists go, it's a pretty good one. But having a lot of time to myself has got me really thinking about the balance and the real desire I have to keep the happy side stronger.

Munis Unite!

One member of my municipal development services group in Paraguay, Jeremiah, has been asked to write a regular journal which will be posted on the Peace Corps website. Pretty cool. Check it out!

Easter Dinner Soup

I made this up Sunday night after I got home from a delicious Easter dinner at my parents' house, armed with leftovers and not sure how I was going to eat them all in my crazy week. You could still make this tonight and have a lovely lunch for the rest of the week. If it's too late, clip and save for next year. Enjoy!

Easter Dinner Soup

In a large stock pot, put 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil and some chopped up garlic.
Let it get hot.
Add a can of chopped tomatoes, whatever flavor you want.
Add chopped up ham leftover from dinner.
Add chopped up green beans left over from dinner.
Add chopped up baked potatoes (or red potatoes or whatever) left over from dinner.
Add 1 cup of water.
Add 1 cup of milk (whole, skim, whatever you like).
Add 1 teaspoon of salt (more to taste if you like).
Add 1 teaspoon of pepper (more to taste if you like).
Add whatever is in your fridge that you need to use and would be yummy in this soup (I added half a can of black beans I had left over).

Stir and heat. Not too long, since everything is already cooked.

Eat and enjoy. I swear, it's really really good. I've had lovely lunches both days this week so far.

I don't have NESN

What the hell am I going to do? I just moved into a new place with basic cable (you know, the basic, basic kind) and I don't get NESN.

Okay, I could LISTEN to the games.



And many claim this is better than watching.

But, the seasons I've been in Boston, I've had a Red Sox boyfriend who I just love to watch.

2004, Bronson Arroyo, people made fun of me, but damn, I ended up right. He can pitch, he can sing and he is TALL!






2005, Jason Varitek, what's not to love? Seriously?



2006, I was out of the US for almost all of the season, but I've always had a place in my heart for Big Papi...


Now what? How am I going to know who is my 2007 Red Sox boyfriend without being able to see them? Start monitoring the website? Nah. As shown by Caroline's most recent post, you can't tell anything by someone's card photo.





I might have to call Comcast and upgrade. Because look at how good lookin' some of them are on their card photos. If I had them on my amazing 27" TV in my living room, I might really fall in love. And, I'd continue to be able to impress the real guys with whom I might have a date with my extensive Red Sox knowledge.




Hello, Comcast customer service?

El Cena de Espanol and Book Club

*note: I just (JUST!) figured out how to put links into the text. Enjoy!



Now that I'm back in Jamaica Plain, a neighborhood of Boston overrun with 20 and 30-somethings (38% percent of JP's population was between the ages of 25 and 44 in 2000 according to the Boston Foundation Indicators Project - and a great portal to engage them with each other, Neighbors for Neighbors I jumped in and got involved in the JP Women's Book CLub and revitalized the Spanish Dinner group, which seemed dormant, from what I could tell.

The result? An awesome book club meeting last Tuesday night at Liz's house to discuss March by Geraldine Brooks with about 8 or 10 other women and a fantastic dinner with three other women tonight para hablar espanol. We met at El Oriental, the Cuban restaurant in Jackson Square, an area of Jamaica Plain with lots of Spanish-speakers which re-opened last November after falling victim to the run of arsons in Jamaica Plain in 2005
We met, we ate mofongo , sopa de pollo, yuca relleno, arroz y frijoles, and other yummy treats. We spoke lots of Spanish, told stories of living and visiting Spanish speaking countries, and talked about work in a foreign language. At the book club, I spent 2 hours in a room with women of varied ages and professions who all have a passion for books and the library. Women who put themselves on the hold list for a book and are number 15 in the queue and are willing to wait. Like me!

It felt GOOD. I've been back home for 6 and a half months, which is completely incredible to me. I almost can't believe it some days. I've taken one Spanish class in that time, which was great, but I still find myself losing words every day. So this is great. And I've been looking for a book club my entire life. My mom has been in hers for almost 30 years. Promixo vez, vamos a tomar cafe juntos. (Next time, we're going to have coffee together.) And next month's book is The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides the Pulitizer Prize winner for Middlesex. I read it back in 1993 when it came out, in college, and I've seen the film, but I'm looking forward, after reading half of it so far, to discussing it with adults, 14 years after my first impression of it.

Jamaica Plain is home. (At least for now :))

The Clown Sweater

Bow to the clown sweater. It was $2 (33% off) and was worn to a bar in the height of ski season in Killington, Vermont. Balls, I tell ya, my brother's got 'em.

A cold Boston night with an unexpected experience

Last night on the way home after a 12-hour work day, I got on the orange line at Downtown Crossing as usual, headed for Stony Brook. It was cold. Very cold. When I got on, I partially listened to the announcer voice saying something about shuttling, but mostly ignored it as I read my book.

Two stops later, the announcement was loud and clear "This is the last stop for this train. Shuttles are waiting at street level to take you to Mass Ave where you can board the train again. There is a medical emergency and a police investigation at Back Bay station."

Great, I thought. I'm never getting home. I emerged onto the street at New England Medical Center, and there were well over 100 people on the street waiting for these mysterious shuttle buses that weren't appearing in any hurry on this frigid Boston evening.

After complaining to my mother on my cell, a woman said, I've been waiting 30 minutes. What? Forget it. She quickly said, Where are you going? Want to share a cab? After that, I don't really know where the other two women came from, but soon we were 4 and we were in a very warm cab headed toward Roxbury and JP.



We dropped the first woman off at Roxbury Crossing, and then I got out just on my corner. Each person that got out paid 25% of whatever the meter read at the moment, which worked out just fine. Olivia snd Lynn were in the cab with me and we chatted and laughed about getting home so quickly afterall.

I will most likely never see these women again. Together, we laughed in the face of those who say that Boston is unfriendly, unyeilding, unpersonal. Last night, for me, it was. It was cold, and we were bundled up and soon, because we spoke to strangers and joined together, we were home.

Drifter-with-a-Mission*

*term cited to Nicholas Barry, March 5, 2007


Written sometime in 2003, remembered today:

I was talking in a guesthouse room in Pokhara, Nepal. Arif, a British man I’d met, looked over at me after I had finished and asked, “Have you always had direction?”

I didn’t even pause. I replied, “It never occurred to me not to.” What an easy summation and explanation for the first 27 years of my life. It was a simple statement to describe an achiever’s life. As I said the words, I wondered for the first time what would happen if I didn’t have such clear direction. I reveled in the idea it isn’t decreed, or forced. It’s my choice.

I’d been traveling for almost 5 months when the above happened. I’d quit my excellent job as a program coordinator for student activities at a small liberal arts college in Los Angeles. I’d earned a Master’s degree to qualify me for such a position – worked for two academic years, written a thesis, lived on very little money and waited tables on the weekends to make ends meet. Before that, I’d attended a private 4-year college in Boston, first as a journalism major and then added sociology for a double major once student services lured me. Direction, all of it. Most things I did were out of interest, but also a means to an end. Taking the assistant-to-the-editor position (one nobody wanted) on the paper first year of college to prepare me for the managing editorship later on. Making certain to only study things that were relevant to potential jobs.

Of course, I was encouraged. My parents were always thrilled. Their daughter was goal-orientated. I showed all kinds of promise in lots of areas. My teachers loved it. I was so easy to advise. I already knew the next step, the planned outcome before I came in to discuss it. All they had to do was sign. I encouraged myself. Nothing is scary when you know what comes next. Nothing is risky when you are certain you can succeed. Direction, in my case, was a way to keep me safe.

So what led me to decide to leave? To do what so many young Europeans do but so few Americans choose: travel the world to unknown places, developing countries, and places I knew little about? I’d never left North American soil. Sure, I’d left home and moved first to Maryland and then to California, but this had begun to feel only so adventuresome. One day, I woke up thinking, “Is this it? I just work and work and work?” and that thought led to this one, “I’ve got to go see the world. Two week vacations aren’t going to do it for me.” Way back then, I requested Peace Corps and Semester at Sea Staff applications. I began to fill them out and slowly realized this wasn’t what I was looking for. I wanted to travel independently, without organization or restriction.

I read and read and read. I began to talk about the idea. I looked around for a travel partner. Amazingly easily, I found her in a friend from college who was discontented with her job and ready for something new. We met at Christmastime 1998, committed to the trip and began to save every precious penny.

As the 18 months before our August 2000 departure date disappeared with swiftness, I became more and more excited and anxious. “Yes,” I told people, “I’m really going.” And “No,” I said, “I’m not worried about what happens after the trip or if I’ll have enough money.” And the biggest of all, “No, I’m not scared of China, or Vietnam, or any other country I’m planning on visiting.” Lies. All of it. I’ve always been able to talk a good game. The truth was I had even convinced myself I wasn’t scared. But I was.

And we did it, that friend and I. We traveled for four months together through China, Hong Kong, Macau, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Thailand. We parted ways then, empowered after time together to set out on our own; she to Cambodia and Laos, and I to Nepal and back to Thailand.

I wound up living on Koh Tao, a seven-kilometer-long island with no mainland power, a 3-hour ferry ride from the East coast of Thailand in the Gulf. I taught scuba diving, a passion I’d found along the way. As well as native people from Thailand and Burma, I also lived with Australians, South Africans, Canadians, and Europeans of countless nationalities. I spent 20 months there in all, and finally returned to the States in October of 2002.

And here I am, after having experienced a three-year detour in my life. A lot happened during those 26 months abroad, and I’m still struggling with the story I have to tell and how to tell it. I went back to college administration and began to settle into what those around me call real life and what for so long I believed was the only life. The most significant lesson learned: there are other choices I can make. I see choices now that too much direction caused me to overlook for far too many years.

I’m a different person. I see options where I once didn’t and I see wide open spaces where I once filled in all the details. I know now that in risk there is failure, but there is also amazing discovery.

Added tonight:

The above could have been written today. And my foray into the Peace Corps was another way of me looking at an option and seeing it instead of looking past it. (Yes, I came home and didn't complete that, but I still speak Spanish a lot better than I did and I lived with a wonderful family in Paraguay, a very weird country I otherwise never would have seen, for that choice.)

The moniker in the title of this post was a gift from a new friend. He referenced himself as another when he gave it to me. I love it. It is a title I believe I'll wear proudly. When someone says, "Tell me about yourself" I think I might start with, "Well, I'm a drifter-with-a-mission" and go from there. It sounds like it fits. It feels like I understand it. Thank you, Nick.

The Facts

1. Yesterday I moved.

2. For the first time in my life, I hired movers.

3. It was February 28, 2007.

4. I moved back to Boston after 9 years away on February 28, 2004 (it was Oscar Sunday).

5. Since then, I have moved 6 times. 6 times in 3 years.

6. First to Mission Hill (4 bedroom, nice enough but crowded). Then Jamaica Plain (in a home my roommate owned, nice enough, but expensive). Then Dorchester (in a friend's apartment, nice enough but left for PC). Then everything to my parents' house and to Paraguay. Then back to Dorchester when I got home from Paraguay. Then here, back to Jamaica Plain yesterday.

7. I am on a lease for the first time since 2003 in Gettysburg.

8. This is the first time my boxspring has had to be airlifted up my house to get it in. (Once I had to abandon it and sleep only on a mattress for a while.)

9. I am tired.

10. I am staying here.

Estoy escribiendo de mi nueva computadora

I am writing from my new computer. I bought a laptop. How, you may ask, did I buy a brand new car, move to a new apartment paying first and last, and a new laptop all in the same month? I'm not really sure yet either.

Since I usually don't use credit and pay for everything in the month I buy it, it is even more crazy. Well, okay. I'm not paying for the car this month. Obviously I've re-entered the land of credit this month for that.

Things come in waves, I figure. I still put the max per month into a ROTH IRA so at the end of the year I've filled it. I still save enough each month to be able to afford a trip to Belize and Guatemala in September. I still manage to justify spending $2.30 every damn day for a Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

Perhaps it's time I stop whining and realize that I make enough money to not only take care of myself, but to also have some extra. A LOT extra. It's time to pause for a moment and own that.

I could complain and say I can't buy a house. Or that I can't afford to ski next year if stupid American Ski Company keeps selling off its mountains and there isn't an affordable pass option. I could complain and say that I want a widescreen TV or new clothes, but the facts are I don't really care about any of that.

I only really care that I can travel. I found a great quote a while back and just googled it to find it again (what did we do before the internet? seriously?)

"When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes."
Desiderius Erasmus

That's me. Books and travel. That's all I really care about. A new laptop is a serious luxury. A new car a even more luxurious thing. And you can borrow books. I'm a huge fan of the library. Can't borrow travel, though. That'd be cool, huh?

Books and travel. And a Dunkin' Donuts coffee. And I'm happy. The laptop and the car? Major icing.

Ah, the MBTA...

The Boston subway system, the MBTA, more colloquially known as the T, recently went high tech. Gone are the days of little metal tokens and turnstiles and here are the days of CharlieCards, CharlieTickets and "bleekers" that read your card and open the automated doors to let you through.

It's been a bit of a nightmare transition. We New Englanders hate change. We hate to admit we hate change, and instead just call everyone stupid and claim that the new thing is broken, not good enough, or just stupid. We rarely just say, "Hey, we are afraid of change!" So, even on a good day, people have struggled.

I myself accidently bought my January monthly T-pass in paper CharlieTicket form at the machine because I didn't pay enough attention to the directions to properly use the bleeker and bleek my pass onto my hard plastic CharlieCard.

And the poor old people! My goodness.

Today, I went to the customer service desk at Downtown Crossing (which, is the only place, as far as I can tell, to get T customer service). My goal was to buy 13 individual CharlieCards with $10 each on them for our Teen TeamWorks Program Participants to use next week. (I couldn't just get CharlieTickets, because with those, it is an extra $.30 a ride which over the course of a week and 13 users, would be a waste of money.)

Below are the two letters I wrote and submitted to www.MBTA.com this afternoon. They do a fairly good job of telling you how my purchasing experience went. Enjoy.

FEEDBACK ONE: sent under the heading "Employee Commendation"

"I do not know her name, but her Badge Number is 7044 and she was working at the Downtown Crossing Customer Service Office today at noon, February 16, 2007.

I wanted to buy 13 CharlieCards with $10 each on them and do one credit card charge. This is not possible. So then I said, "Okay then, just do 13 separate charges." This is not possible since there is a 2 per day limit on credit card charges to the T.

So finally, I said, okay, how about I buy one CharlieCard for $130 and then you move $10 increments onto 13 different cards? Couldn't. CharlieCards have a limit of $100.

Finally, she figured out that she could do 2 charges for 13 separate CharlieTICKETS and then switch each ticket over individually to a CharlieCard for me. She had to do each one separately, feeding it into the machine, recording it on a sheet by hand and then putting the CharlieCard on the black card reader and printing out each receipt. It took her 25 minutes and she did it well, quickly, and without complaint.

She made my day. And she restored my faith in customer service completely (a faith that's been tested lately.)

I commend Badge #7704, whose name I wish I knew. Please make sure she knows I wrote you. And hire more like her.

Thank you.

Karen Boss, T-user"

FEEDBACK TWO: sent under the heading "Complaint"
"Why can someone only charge twice a day with the same credit card with the MBTA?

Why can a CharlieCard only hold $100?

Why can I not buy multiple CharlieCards on one credit card transaction?

These all seem like rules that only serve to lose you money and make people like me, who work with groups, have a harder time figuring out how to get them onto the T.

Can you tell me why these are the rules?

Thank you,

Karen Boss, T-rider"

A New Car!

http://www.scion.com/showroom/xa/gallery/

This is my new car. I'm a little bit in love with it. It's a Scion xA and it's wicked cute. Toyota makes it, so it'll go for a long long time. It's got good cargo space when you put the seats down, and I can control the radio from the steering wheel. Did I mention it's cute?

I've never owned a new car before. Ever. I once bought a dealer rental, which they let people use when they needed something, that had 19,800 miles on it when I bought it. This car had 9 miles on it when the sales guy picked me up at the JFK T-stop yesterday in it and let me drive it back to the dealership in order to finalize the purchase. 9 miles! YAY!

It's blue. It's called Indigo Ink. Nice.

It smells like new car inside.

I'm going to obsess over every little mark on the outside of it even though for years I'd've hardly noticed if someone had splashed paint on my car or taken the bumper with them as a momento. :) Now I'll notice every little thing, I'll have to get used to that.

The old car, poor dear, broke and died on the way to Vermont last weekend on the side of Route 89 off the desolate exit 12A where there is nothing, in George's Mills/Sunapee, New Hampshire. This was exactly 107 miles from my mechanic in Boston, so I still owed AAA a bit of money after the first free 100 miles they towed it. I paid only $1600 for that car in September and I got $200 on the trade, so that's $280 a month I paid to drive that little car. Learning to drive a stick with confidence, though? Priceless.

Yay for new cars! Next up? New apartment next month. Lots of changes!

Dear Woman who now has my old cell number,

I am very sorry that you were assigned a recycled phone number by Verizon a mere 30 days after I left Boston. I too have suffered this fate. I occassionally get a call from an 800 number verifying that I am Roxy. I assure the 800 number caller that I am not Roxy and explain that I have her old number. They try to verify my address, which is when I assure them since I am NOT Roxy, I do not live at her house.

This is annoying, without question. I wish the 800 number people would stop calling me. But alas, I cannot make them. I can only choose to answer the phone and tell them I am not Roxy or ignore the number because I do not recognize it and move on.

You, too, Oh Woman who now has my old cell number, have this choice. Apparently this is not enough for you. I am sorry that a few of my family members and perhaps friends have called my old cell number since I unexpectedly returned to the US in September. I think my Aunt did once, and my Dad did, too. (He was upstairs without his own cell phone and pulled my number out of his wallet. It was my old number.) So yes, a few people have mistakenly called you. A "this is not Karen's number anymore" or "this was Karen's old number" would have sufficed. But, no, oh mystery woman. You had to be really mean.

On my birthday, an Aunt called your number (my old number) and said "Karen?". You yelled, without missing a beat, "Karen's dead!" and hung up the phone. On my birthday. Lovely behavior.

And so, after learning that some of my family can't seem to record a new phone number, I called you to apologize. I dialed your number (my old number) and said to you, nicely, "Hi. I'm Karen. You have my old number." You yelled, "Yes, and tell all your family and friends to stop calling me! I'm sick and tired of it!" And you hung up.

I, of course, didn't know you hung up, so I launched into my little speech about how I was sorry some of my family and friends were being dumb and that I had in fact told everyone my new number and then I nicely asked you not to tell anyone else I had died. Only then did I realize you didn't hear any of it.

I called you three times in a row, and you hung up on me three times. The fourth time you yelled, "I don't have the money to talk to you. Stop calling." (On a Verizon plan on a Sunday. Clearly math isn't your forte.)

So I texted you. You can't hang up on a text. I said "Do not tell anyone else I'm dead." You got pissed and texted back something along the lines of you telling anyone you wanted whatever you wanted and that I was dumb for not telling everyone my new number and that not being your problem (but it IS your problem, isn't it?) and then you said I had no right to call you.

I had just gotten off the phone with Verizon, who I had called to register a complaint about their measly 30 day waiting period. It should be longer, don't you agree? I got your text and texted you back to say that you hadn't listened long enough to hear that I was calling to apologize and that I had talked to Verizon. I ended with "Please stop being so rude."

You, of course, didn't reply.

My sister and her husband begged me for the number so they could harrass you. You deserve it, frankly. But now you have my number and my first name and you could probably get me for harrassment if I let them do it, so I won't. But I wish I could.

You are a big huge bee-atch. I hope lots of people keep calling you looking for me. I didn't used to wish that, but now I do.

Sincerely,

Not Roxy, Karen, with a new number, who used to have your number

Dunkin Donuts Customer Service

Good or Bad? You decide.

I got a $25 Dunkin Donuts giftcard for Christmas. I hadn't used it that much, and then I went in and got an extra large half hot chocolate half decaf and it was $2.30. I used my card, got a receipt, and it said I had $13.12 (I don't remember the exact change, but I know it was $13).

The next day, I go back, use the same card at the same Dunkin Donuts and get the same thing. They tell me the card is empty. Huh? After a bit of a back and forth, the manager gives me the coffee/hot chocolate for free and tells me to call the 800 number.

I do. They ask me for the number from the back of the card and then look up the history. They say it was bought in early December for $5 and used once in early January and again on January 11, and again the previous day which tapped it out. Okay, no. I was in Puerto Rico on January 11. They ask if I registered my gift card on line. Um, no. They ask if I have the receipt from yesterday. Um, no.

We finally figure out that they must have given me the wrong card back the day before. But, because I am irresponsible Dunkin Donuts card holder, there's no way to prove it. So she takes all my info (address of the store, date I used the card, exact amount I used it for, and the exact time I used it) and says she'll do some research and get back to me.

I had had a terrible customer service week so far, so I asked her when she'd call me back. By 4, she says. Okay, I tell her, but please call me back. I'm having a terrible customer service week so far.

At 4:30 I hadn't heard. At 5, I called them and they looked up my card number to verify the amount on the card and told me there was $14 on it. I asked her to check when that amount was loaded on the card. That morning, in fact.

So, good customer service, yes. They gave me my $14 when they didn't need to. But bad because they never called to tell me the verdict? Not sure.

The next day, I registered my card online so if I ever actually lose it (or if the Dunkin Donuts barista ever just gives me whatever random card happens to be next to her on the counter again) I can easily get my money back. And for doing so, I got a nice $2 bonus. Not quite enough to buy my extra large half hot chocolate half decaf, but I think I can swing the 30 cents to make up the difference.

Name Tag Revolution

I have this new connection I made through Boston Cares. A man named Joseph Porcelli, who is young and lives and works in JP in Boston and I have been working together to post Boston Cares stuff onto his Neighbors For Neighbors website in an effort to pull in members of that organization in JP to our work.

Now, for his new year's resolution, he's donned a name tag and wears it everywhere he goes in order to introduce himself to others and reconnect with the people, community and world around him. Not a bad idea.

Today, I put on a nametag. I'm going to see how long I last. He says that he feels like a dork, but that's not the point. He's right. We are disconnected as people from each other.

If nothing else, watch the clip from the news on this posting. Really good stuff.

Below is his info that he has sent out via email. Enjoy connecting!

*****************************************************

Friends,

I got more name tag news. CBS 4 Boston did a piece on my wearing a name tag.
Check it out and forward it around. My new thing is to get people to wear a
name tag for a day and then email me stories and pictures of their
experience I will then put on the blog.

http://cbs4boston.com/topstories/local_story_016190333.html


So much has transpired in the last 24 hours. Neasa is participating by wearing a digital name tag on her blog and inviting other bloggers to join her, Charlie will comparing the experience of wearing a name tag in Boston v NYC, and 14 year old teen is going snow boarding with his buddies wearing name tags. Check it out at http://nametag.neighborsforneighbors.org. How will you participate.

I've been interviewed five time already and tonight you can listen in to WBZ Radio 1030 around 9:45 PM ish after the game. For those of you out of range you can tune in online at http://www.wbz.com/pages/37336.php. Please call in and show the love! 617-254-1030.

Tomorrow I will be interviewed by Q 104 in Cleveland and on Sunday a local radio show in Kingston NY.

If you're considering wearing a name tag for a day - stop considering - and choose to do it. You'll have a blast. It not about looking like a dork - which you will - It's about getting over felling silly to make a point that you believe the power of community and are being proactive about creating it. Join me! If you do, be sure to record your experiences, take pictures, and email them back to me so I can post them to the blog at http://nametag.neighborsforneighbors.org.

Mom, dad, Marc, when are you going to try out the name tag for a day? Kate is doing it today. Dad and Marc you should really try it at the airport, the TSA folks get a kick out of this and appreciate it.

All of you who are getting this email are people I consider friends. Some of you who don't know me that well are getting this email cause I think you are cool and I'd would like to get to know you better. If any of you would like to not receive any more name tag email please simply reply with no thanks and you be removed from this list. I will not take any offense.

One last thing please forward this email to as many people as you know and invite them to participate. I want this to spread as quickly and powerfully as possible nationwide!

Your neighbor,

Joseph Porcelli.

Imagine what would be possible if every one in the country would wear a name tag for a day.

2007

It's 2007. How the hell did that happen?

My year of tres inviernos (three winters) has come to an end. Course, I still have most of the third winter to get through, but that's another story.

What a weird year. It was just last January, around my birthday, when I decided to consider applying for the Peace Corps. From the moment I made the decision, I was on my way, much the way I do most things. Figure it out, make it happen, and keep moving forward toward whatever decision you've made. So I did, and scarcely three months later I received my invitation and only 6 weeks after that, I left. Some might say the whole thing was too quick, but I know different. It wasn't "too" quick. It was just quick, which, when you've made a decision and feel good about it, is a good thing.

Three months deciding to apply and doing so, two months getting there. Three months living in Paraguay. Two months of complete uncertainty of what was next and worrying like I haven't in years. And the final two months, settling into a new job and being home. What a compartmentalized year.

I'm not sure what this year will hold, but it might not be just hunkering down and staying put. My roommate decided over Christmas that she should think about buying a house and she will begin that process this month. I'm really excited for her. What I'll do is still up in the air. I could move with her and help her with the mortgage by paying her rent. Or, I could stay here, in this place I've come to really love (even with the horrible landlord) and find myself a new roommate. And, I could move (again). That idea doesn't sound so horrible (it is amazing how quickly you forget how awful moving is). So do I stay here in the city or is it maybe time to move up to Lowell and be closer to family and friends and take advantage of the cheaper rent and extra 50 minutes times 2 trips a day on the commuter rail to read? Perhaps I might actually get to be a daily Globe reader again if I do that.

I'm not making resolutions this year. I haven't for a while now. I'm just going to keep trying to be a better person and keep trying to make new friends. I'm going to keep dating and keep telling everyone I know to tell all their single guy friends that they know this great single woman. I'm going to keep doing good work and helping others do good work. I'm going to keep in touch with my friends in Paraguay and keep spending time with my family. I'm going to keep defending those who need it and keep learning as much as I can. I'm going to keep listening incessantly to NPR and keep making dinner dates with friends I don't see that often. I'm going to keep going to the gym and keep eating well and sleeping well. I'm going to keep loving my siblings and keep getting to know my new brother-in-law better. I'm going to keep arguing and keep watching Grey's Anatomy. I'm going to keep loving the Amazing Race and keep using the library. So there's nothing to resolve, only things to keep. Let's do that from now on, make New Year's Keeps.

Welcome 2007. I'm amazed you are here already, but I still welcome you. Let's make it a good one!