Happy Tuesday, folks! Today is the first installment of my newest feature, Word Intoxication, where I showcase a bit of original poetry. Poetry is such a wonderfully flexible medium, and I often forget that my love of writing is rooted here. Enjoy!

Stairwells

Anxiety rocks my nerves, my sanity to no avail.
The 20-year battle, upstream with no paddle, will cease with a token exhale.

I find meditation without proper sedation near impossible at best.
And even assistance on the path of resistance fails the longevity test.

Frantic uneasiness is getting quite tedious, I find as impatience grows.
And this scatterbrained prison, no curse to be risen, grows smaller less poem or prose.

I’ve yet to find meaning, my conscience is seething, I scramble to keep it together;
exposing the myth that love true will fix this wholly unbalanced traveler.

Without trepidation or sane hesitation, I dive head first in the dark.
To swim up for air, the surface: not there..
On a quest for gills I’ll embark.

It’s happened four times now. Four times I’ve been watching a dramatic movie and start to become physically uncomfortable. Discomfort leads to anxiety. Anxiety to full body tremors. And the next thing I know, I’m sitting against the wall with my face in my knees, sobbing.

The first time was kind of understandable. My boyfriend suggested watching Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, starring Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock. I mistakenly assumed it was a comedy. Thanks to my apartment’s lack of cable, and my extreme addiction to Netflix, I had no clue the film was about 9/11. And since when do two comedians star in crazy intense dramas about 9/11? The film centers around Hanks and Bullock’s child, who refuses to answer the phone when his father (Hanks) is calling repeatedly from the crumbling World Trade Center. The kid later sees a photo of a man jumping out of the window, plunging to his death, and fixates an obsession on it, assuming the man is his father. It’s HEAVY.

Not realizing the movie wasn’t a comedy, I agreed to watch it, but became ill through my sobs about half way through. I might be oversensitive to extreme emotion. Hard to say at this point. I don’t even remember whether we finished the movie. I was SO angry at Jon for putting it on and not being able to read my clearly averse mind. Ultimately, the only cure for what felt like emotional annihilation was like 10 episodes of Family Guy.

The second time was also kind of a fluke. We’d been watching the entire series of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks on Netflix, mostly to see what all of the 90’s hype was about. The show was awesome. Really, very weird, but awesome all the same. As Lost enthusiasts, Twin Peaks piqued our interest when we found out that JJ Abrams was more or less inspired by the dark, mysterious undertones that made Twin Peaks a classic. When we had made it through the second (and last season), it was only a matter of time before we illegally downloaded the movie, and let it wrap up the series in a satisfying way. But that didn’t really happen. Maybe I should have sensed the oncoming weirdness from the title itself, but the line, Fire Walk with Me, came straight out of Laura Palmer’s diary. Turns out, the movie is WAY more messsed up than the show: more midgets, more owls, and more rape. After the third rape scene, I went into Jon’s room to cry until the movie was over. I didn’t, after all, want to ruin his experience just because I couldn’t handle a bit of violent sodomy. This time, like the first time, it wasn’t Jon’s fault. Even I had no idea I was capable of this sort of reaction, how could he possibly know? Besides, we BOTH wanted to watch this movie. I was actually looking forward to it. But there was something about the deep human suffering, the graphic rape scenes, that I literally couldn’t handle.

After twice losing my shit at movies of this caliber, I should have understood my limitations. But how was I to know that Paul Anderson’s Magnolia was nothing like the chick flick Steele Magnolias? I was actually kind of sad that Dolly Parton wasn’t billed, but was relieved to see the likes of John C Reilly, Julianne Moore, Phillip Seymor-Hoffman, and Luis Guzman on the cast list. More awesomely funny people! Tom Cruise as a career ladies man? William H Macy as an aging, eccentric gay man? Yes please! Sign me UP.

I was so, so wrong. Apparently, Paul Anderson works in the style of hyper-reality. Everything is way f***ed up… you know… like real life. There is no happy ending. No heartwarming climax. No hope whatsoever. They are long, disturbing films with beautiful cinematography and compelling characters. Films that win awards, but that you’d NEVER let your kids watch. The feelings started bubbling as soon as Tom Cruise used the word “pussy” for the first time. And then he used it about 100 more times. The swearing, the drug abuse, the screaming arguments between characters; all of it culminated to the feeling of watching an actual train wreck that just wouldn’t stop.

I need to be taken care of by a movie. Where were the montages? The goofy sidekick? I want to be built up, let down, then built back up again. This kind of movie, to me, is not entertaining. “It’s GOOD that you’re reacting emotionally to a movie,” Jon said as he pulled me up off the floor of his bedroom, wiping off the mascara running down my face. “That’s what’s supposed to happen. Movies are supposed to make you feel something.” But I don’t want to feel this way! I argued. And this time, we turned off the movie before it ended. I then proceeded fall into a deep, but temporary depression. And that’s when I vowed to stick to comedies.

A few weeks later, Jon bought us tickets to a newly released Paul Anderson film called, The Master. Loosely based around the life of L. Ron Hubbard, the movie was shot and shown in 70mm film, which is visually masterful. (See what I did there?) But I was super hesitant. No more Paul Anderson movies! I cried. But Jon convinced me. “Who else am I going to see a movie with?” I let myself believe that because Amy Adams and Joaquin Phoenix played main characters, there might be some singing. And whenever I see Phillip Seymour-Hoffman, I always just imagine him as the eccentric storm chaser in Twister. Denial: not just a river in Egypt. I clenched my teeth and agreed, hoping Magnolia was only intense because of the writing. And this movie probably had different writers, right?

Jon bought tickets early, and we showed up at the theatre half an hour before the doors opened. The line was longer than the line for the Matterhorn at Disneyland. It wrapped around the building, bled into the parking lot, and came full circle to the front of the theatre when full. We wondered if we’d even get to sit together. The fact that so many people were so enthusiastic about the movie dampened my anxieties about it being too intense. Surely THIS many people wouldn’t pay a bunch of money and stand in a crazy line if the film wasn’t expected to be magnificent.

And that was the fourth time it happened.

I almost walked out of the theatre. I didn’t because Jon had paid for tickets, but I couldn’t contain my blubbering towards the end of the movie. Joaquin Phoenix will hands down win the Oscar for this role. Phillip Seymour Hoffman was compelling as the L. Ron Hubbard type. Amy Adams was beautiful and intriguing as Hubbard’s wife. But again, I found myself faced with complete and utter hopelessness. Much of the movie was very rough. I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to watch Amy Adams jerk off her husband. I just don’t. And I don’t want to watch Joaquin Phoenix drinking photo processing chemicals because of severe alcoholism.

The only good thing that came from the experience was the epiphany I had. I finally figured out why I’ve been reacting so harshly. I finally realized I’m more than just the girl who’s always crying. The reason I had four of these episodes over six months was this (stay with me): I am clinically depressed. I have been for a long, long time. Before I was diagnosed in 2008, I had succumbed to the deepest depression imaginable. I couldn’t get out of bed. I failed an introductory journalism class. I was questioning my sexuality. I felt alone. Hopeless. I wanted to kill myself. I started cutting my arms. But I did eventually come out of the depression. I don’t know how long it took, but I finally saw a psychiatrist and started on anxiety/depression meds that I take to this day.

“So, why are you still having strong emotional reactions if you’re not depressed anymore?” you might ask. First of all, don’t speak to me in that tone. Secondly, the reason these movies impacted me so much is because the hopelessness of the characters reminded me of my own hopelessness. I was taken back there. The hole that I worked so hard to pull myself out of was reaching up and dragging me back in. My empathy was on overdrive and I felt like nothing would ever be good for these people. Okay, I know they’re not REAL people. But fictional characters can have just as much of an emotional effect as real people, as anyone who cried at The Notebook can attest. None of these movies were “bad.” On the contrary, their power lay in there magnificence. But after four tries, I finally learned my lesson.

These days, when Jon asks me what movie I want to watch, I suggest the following: The South Park Movie, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Anchorman, Grandma’s Boy. Or, I tell him we can watch reruns of 30 Rock and Futurama. Anything more intense is officially off limits.

Dear Friends,

Today I am going to share an editorial piece I wrote about a year ago. Since Northeastern turned me down for a job, I feel no remorse shedding some light on how ridiculous this “situation” was. Right around the time we were graduating, Northeastern Career Services decided to do some creative advertising and this Letter to the Editor was published in the Huntington News shortly after. Enjoy.

The actual flier sent out to Northeastern’s 2011 seniors

Dear Editor,

Today I received an email from Career Services inviting me to do some post-graduation job search practice. Usually I don’t check my Northeastern email because all my spam goes there and I hate getting messages about paying my tuition bill when loans are already paying… but today I was feeling ambitious. I’ve been trying to read any and all mail about senior stuff, especially because I’m always so oblivious to what’s going on around me. But the email was quite disturbing: “The Senior Situation.”

There are so many things wrong with what’s going on here. Firstly, the fact that CAREER SERVICES sent this out. Come on, Northeastern staff, you really had to resort to using Mike “The Situation” to get us to come to career services? The man who has become famous because of spray tans and general douchebaggery. The man who coined the term “grenades” when referring to unattractive girls. The man who sets an awesome example every time he forces a girl to leave in the middle of the night because she won’t have sex with him. His abs are more famous than he is. Excuse me as I roll my eyes.

Speaking of abs, have you seen that they wrote “resume writing” and “interviewing” and other aspects of the event ON HIS ABS. Yes, Mike the Situation’s Abs, I would love to hear about the opportunity to explore my career options. I’ve been waiting for the email in which you invite me to learn all about how I, too, can be successful by getting wasted and speaking in the third person.

I understand the need for the university to connect with its audience. And Mike the Situation is probably one of the most well-known names of our generation (sigh). But why must they pander? Can’t career services be clever and creative without insulting my intelligence? Don’t assume that just because I’m a college student, I automatically watch Jersey Shore religiously and drink Four Lokos. Yes, I’ve seen it. No, I don’t give a shit. Isn’t Northeastern supposed to be one of the higher-ranking universities in the US? That’s what they keep telling us.

Incidentally, marketing for any event is about grabbing the attention of the viewer. I mean, when I was in middle school we purposely hung posters upside down so people would read them. So yes, I get it. But from a respectable institution, I expect more. Anyone who has seen the show (yes I’ve seen it and yes it is entertaining in a mindless way) knows that their example is not one to follow. Sure, you could absolutely argue that using Jersey Shore’s image to promote professional attitudes and preparedness is, on some level, cool and hip and fun or something. “Yeah! I’m in college and that guy’s on MTV! I’m SO there.”

From where I’m sitting it just seems.. ironic. Don’t you think that a bunch of 23-year-old fifth years who have a good amount of professional experience under their belts would be drawn to this event no matter what icon being used to promote it? Consequently, I will NOT be attending the event. Northeastern’s half-assed attempt at connecting has only pushed me away more.

And then it all becomes clear: the email MUST have been meant for all the deadbeat seniors who have coasted through five years with D+ averages and no co-op experience. The ones who spent every night of finals partying. Students like my first roommate. But wait, she dropped out after a semester or two… so how many of those kids are actually graduating with us? And how can I get in contact with them to convince their obviously weak minds to spare a graduation ticket or two?

Sincerely,

Disappointed

A couple weeks ago, Jon and I joined The Indobox on Block Island for a music-filled weekend getaway. A few times a year, The Indobox and their faithful fans flock to the island to drink, dance, and dream about never going home. Old friends reunite and reminiscing ensues.

When we first started dating, Jon was living with The Indobox. Their late night basement rehearsals kept me up for all hours of the night, but fostering relationships with these guys was well worth it. We try to make it to every show we can, especially since their manager Forrest is also a good friend. Jon’s been to the BOX Island extravaganza many times, but this was my first. Additionally, this was the first time Jon hadn’t crashed in the band’s van all weekend in lieu of paying for a room. Yeah adulthood!

We drove to Narraganset, Rhode Island to catch the Ferry to the island.

Still peeling from that awful sunburn!

We got to the Island, checked into our room, and hit the beach with a few friends. The waves rivaled La Jolla Shores in San Diego. It was the first time I had seen waves that size on the east coast. I was so excited that the even icy water couldn’t keep me out.

After some time on the beach, we met up with Gator and Kirsten, some of our closest friends. Jon and Gator grew up together, but we all met over Christmas in New Jersey. We’ve since become good friends.

That night, we went to the show at Captain Nick’s. There are very few bars on the island, and our group wasn’t the only one there. We ran into bachelorette parties mostly, and they loved the music. Their behavior was also great entertainment for me and Kirsten, exchanging judgmental glances for the worst of social faux pas. Here are some photos from the first night:

The next day, we stayed in. A storm was passing over and we were exhausted from staying out late. We had packed some cold cuts to save money on restaurants, and we delved into our cooler for food. After a few movies on comedy central, it was time to hit up the grocery store. On the walk, Arcade Fire hung in the air, and Joey’s voice haunted the lyrics. Reddy, Set, Joey, Joey Zarick’s (Indobox base player) project with a woman named Karen Reddy. They were delightful and we drank water and hung out on the porch of Captain Nick’s for the afternoon.

We left Captain Nick’s only to return a few hours later. The bar was significantly more crowded that night; word had gotten out about the shows. We wound around the music hall to the abandoned bar next to the stage. Kirsten and I found stools and enjoyed the scene. There was a particular bachelorette party that caught our attention in which the bride-to-be was behaving quite lewdly. I snapped this photo during her mock striptease next to a large fan. Needless to say, she loved the attention.

Later, I found Timmy fraternizing with her on the dance floor.

At one point in the night, I was waiting in line for the ladies room. It’s typical for women to wait in a line at a crowded bar, but the liquor pressing on your bladder can make that line unbearable. However, I recently learned that the bride-to-be is allowed to skip to the front of the line, if enough of her bridesmaids are already waiting. At least, at this party she was. I have to admit, I was a bit disgusted. It’s one thing if you’re in line at a wedding and the bride comes in to cut everyone. But personally, I don’t know anyone I like enough to let them cut a bathroom line. Maybe I have a thing about rules. It’s fine.

Here are more photos from the night:

Forrest fixing a broken guitar string

Joey with a froey

When the bar closed, we made our way to the after party where a dj friend spun for us.

The next day, we went to the beach before we had to catch the ferry back. The sun was shining and we spent a few hours lying on the sand.

It was a great weekend! Already looking forward to next summer…

Me, Jenn & Ab

Two weeks ago, my cousin Jenn Parsons graduated from West Point Military Academy and I was fortunate enough to receive an invitation to part of the otherwise week-long festivities. Joe Biden was billed to speak at commencement, so it was sure to be all kinds of entertaining. While extreme weather and general disorganization plagued the event overall, the Smith and Parsons families edged around those issues through preparedness and humor. Also, wine.

My dad got a little generous with the pour. Notice my non-smart phone on the right.

Let’s back up. My cousin. Someone who is related to me. Ranked among the top 30 graduates in the whole graduating West Point class. Joe Biden actually gave her a diploma and shook her hand. “You’re allowed to smile,” he told her. Jenn also received the highest grade among her fellow mechanical engineers, emphasis in aeronautical engineering. Basically, my cousin is SO COOL they officially closed school.

Jenn being commissioned.

Of course, you would NEVER know that if you met her. In fact, if you Google the terms “modest” and/or “humble,” a photo of my cousin would surely pop up. It’s the unassuming brilliance that dazzled the military, the kind that so embodies their 2012 class motto: “For more than ourselves.”

The first event I attended was on Friday morning: The Graduation Parade. The parade was being held on the main lawn, a giant patch of grass that apparently costs more to maintain than the white house lawn.

Mic’d announcements boomed off the massive buildings, echoing through the growing crowd of spectators haggling for seats. Our 12-person group arrived early enough to get seats in the bleachers, and waited while the cool morning mist hung in the air. My cousin Abigail (Jenn’s younger sister) pulled her pink hood over her head and sat with me as we pretended to save seats for nonexistent relatives.

Abigail in the middle. Saving my seat.

People watching at its finest: what will someone do when you refuse them a seat? At first, we simply tried to avoid eye contact. When someone asked us outright, we horribly assessed if we wanted to sit with them or not. Eventually we caved and allowed two elderly folks to accompany our bench. I mean, we’re not monsters.

After about two hours of screaming children; six collective bathroom trips for the immobile, elderly couple sitting on the inside of us; and one creepy-looking, life-size cutout of a cadet following me with his eyes, we found it incredibly funny when verbally attacked.

Mildly creepy

Which is exactly what happened when, ten minutes before the ceremony began, a white-haired, cane-yielding, jet-black sun glasses-wearing woman came around and began demanding someone give up their seat for her. Uh-uh, no way lady. We have been here for a LONG time, I don’t care how old you are, I thought. So I avoided eye contact while she told my Nana in the front row she would “go find a KINDER soul to give her a seat.”

Abi’s grandfather called out after her, “Sorry!”

She turned back to him and sneered, “No you’re not.”

Wow. Talk about hostile.

Here are some more photos from the day:

Can you pick out Jenn?

Jenn hugging my mom before the parade

Uncle Jeff & my dad in matching outfits.

Our Uncle Tony flew out from San Diego for the event!

After the parade, we made our way to get some lunch, killing time before the Honor’s award ceremony. We snuck into the main auditorium an hour before it started, but were promptly asked to leave so the cadets might rehearse. Whoops, already getting in trouble.

United States Military Academy 2012 Awards Convocation

At the start of the ceremony, we all joined in to sing our National Anthem for the second time that day. The whole situation started to feel a lot like church. Sitting, standing, lots of singing. People dressed nicely. And the whole time, you’re only marginally sure what’s actually going on.

I looked up at the stage as the cadets received their respective awards and knew I was looking at our Nation’s future leaders. I mean, Jenn wants to be an astronaut. For these graduates, the sky isn’t even the limit. Jenn received the Colonel James L. Wash Memorial Award for the highest degree of excellence in mechanical engineering. She’s kind of a big deal.

(Fine Print): The Colonel James L. Walsh Memorial Award, established in 1956. A Mounted Cadet Saber awarded in the name of the National Defense Industrial Association for the Highest Degree of Excellence in Mechanical Engineering. Sponsored by the National Defense Industrial Association. Presented to: Cadet Jennifer Parsons.

After the awards, Jenn was able to hang out with us for a bit. We drove around campus as she had to mind to pre-graduation administrative things. We admired her cool saber while Ab checked its relative sharpness. She may or may not have gashed her finger. It’s fine.

Jenn with her sweet saber.

We stopped for beer at the closest gas station, and drove back to the hotel to bum around. The Parsons clan went to a formal banquet, while the Smiths ordered pizza. My parents and I swapped YouTube videos to fill the time. My dad chose “United Breaks Guitars.” I introduced them to The Lonely Island’s “Captain Jack Sparrow.” Around that time, the Parsons newcomers showed up, including my wildly brilliant and adorable twin, 8-year-old cousins, Lilly and Dante. Since my dad brought 16 bottles of wine for the weekend, we did some serious drinking. (Not the 8 year olds!) Lilly sat on my lap and held my hand the whole night. Dante wrestled with my dad. Once I gave them my ipod touch to play with, they became distracted with Angry Birds and Fruit Ninja. It was a wonderful time.

Me & my cousin Lilly in our matching glasses.

The rest of the clan returned from the banquet and we rallied until we realized our meeting time for the morning was wicked early. Like, 5:45 AM. I was sharing a room with my Nana, so we retired with our books, mentally preparing for the four hours of sleep we would be getting.

Lilly, Ab, Dante & I were up way past our bed times.

Have you ever tailgated at 7am? I have.  

Even though we had assigned seats, we found ourselves in lawn chairs with bagged hotel breakfasts a full three hours before the ceremony would begin. We are a happy family of early birds.

See, first timers make the mistake of not giving themselves enough time to get through car security entering the school, then metal detectors and bag checks to get into the stadium. We’d heard horror stories of folks missing the ceremony entirely due to traffic entering the school. That wasn’t going to happen to us. The morning was beautiful. It was warm, but foggy enough to cool the air. Dark, threatening clouds hung overhead, but the rain didn’t come. Not right then, anyway.

Dante & Lilly

After some time, we made our way to the stadium. The hot sun was burning off the remaining haze as I fumbled to remove all the electronics from my bag. “All of them?” I asked the TSA bag checkers. The man in the rubber gloves smiled weakly, exasperated by the question. I proceeded to pull out two cameras, four chargers, a phone, and an ipod. I nearly overturned my bag to get it all out. The rest of the party had long since gone through the lines, I was holding everyone up.

Mom

Although it was early, the stadium was packed. I snaked through the crowd, using my House of Blues security training to make my way easily. We got to our seats and looked at our watches. We had two hours until the ceremony started. Ab and I played “Life” on her iPad to pass the time, noticing the sun getting hotter and hotter as the time passed. Babies started crying. Programs became fans. My mother applied sun screen. And without warning, thousands of graduation-goers began baking in the hellish sun as we agonized for the stupid thing to start already. When a rare breeze rolled through, the crowd let out a collective sigh of relief.

The sun was so bright.

Abigail's legs were starting to burn

Side note about extreme weather: everyone hates it. We’re all miserable. But somehow, the shared misery makes it okay. At least I’m not the only one who feels this way, I rationalized as I swiped one handprint of sunscreen across my right shoulder. That should be enough, right? It wasn’t. What resulted from my sunscreen apathy was the worst sunburn of my life. No joke, even as I write this almost a full two weeks later, my skin continues to peel and hurt.

Me and Abigail in the hot sun.

The pleasure we took from the heat was the fact that at least WE were putting ourselves through this to see Jenn walk across the stage first, in the top 30 cadets. To see her shake Joe Biden’s hand. Most other families suffered through the heat for nothing but mediocrity. A name quickly called by no one famous. Of course, any West Point graduate is beyond mediocre, but that small comfort helped me and Abi fight off mental sun poisoning. We later found out that MSNBC used a photo of one graduate shaking the Vice President’s hand as their story cover photo, and the photo was (of course) of Jenn. I was excited for her, but in no way surprised. You can see the photo here.

Jenn shaking Joe Biden's hand on the jumbotron.

Once the ceremony actually started, we were inches from heat stroke. From a cadet volunteer’s radio I heard no less than three medic calls in a matter of minutes.

People were fading. The cliché, “dropping like flies” seemed appropriate to use. After Biden spoke, and after Jenn walked across the stage, Ab and I booked it up the stadium steps to grab a bit of shade. Half of our 16 person party had disbursed throughout the venue. All of us trying to find a brief moment of relief. Ab and I found a locked Coca-Cola freezer and cracked it just enough to get a tiny blast of cold air.

Tiny yet satisfying. I began scraping icicles out of the cooler an empty Popsicle cart and holding them to my face. I took off my heels and slipped on my flats.

We ran into my little cousins and shared some shade with them and my Aunt Mary. They were getting ready for the traditional hat toss in which little kids run onto the field to catch the hats when the cadets fling them in the air to celebrate commencement. Sometimes cadets put money or notes in their hats for the kids, and we instructed our otherwise well-behaved cousins to be ruthless and aggressive. They got hats without having to fight anyone. We are a family of winners.

Hat Toss

Jenn with Lilly & Dante after the ceremony

The most interesting thing to note about the graduation overall was how unbelievably disorganized the event was. Ironic, right? The ARMY can’t figure out how to properly bus families back to campus after 200 years of graduations? We waited in an unholy line in the ungodly sun for almost an hour while the busses filled up slower than the trickle of Chinese water torture. Notably, the SAME old lady that was rude to us from the day before tried cutting people in line! Guilt tripping her way to the front, we held our ground and boxed her out.

We rode the bus to the main campus where Jenn was commissioned personally by her commander. She stood up with 5 of her companymates and the commander said, “If there was one word to describe this group, it would be: prepared.” That sent shivers down my spine. She said that Jenn was “one of the hardest workers in the entire company.” My Uncle Jeff and Auntie Laurie pinned Jenn’s stripes onto her uniform, and we were all just so proud.

We made our way to the bus that would take us back to our cars, and waited in another massive line. My dad pulled up a weather map on his phone and beating red right above West Point was the eye of what seemed to be a hurricane. Gerbil-sized rain drops began pelting us and I grabbed Lilly’s hand and muscled and scratched our giant party onto the school bus. I got into a screaming match with some lady. My sprightly Nana elbowed old ladies out of her way. Abigail verbally assaulted the bus driver until he re-opened the door and let our whole family on.

Moments after we pulled away, the sky opened up, and the great flood that caused Noah to build an ark seemed to be matched by the massive storm we were experiencing. We got off the bus and still had a quarter mile walk to the car. At this point, the rain was a welcome change. The hot sun had melted our makeup and our dresses were already ruined by rings of sweat. Lilly and I actually walked in the rain to the car. And then started running because it’s way more fun.

We got soaked!

Uncle Tony after the storm!

We went out to dinner later to celebrate Jenn’s accomplishments. We brought our own wine, because we’re just that classy. It was great to spend so much time with my family, and I was so grateful to my Aunt Laurie for organizing it for us, including giving us care packages with sunscreen and necessities for the events. I am so blessed to have such a loving and fun family. Congrats Jenn!

Jenn & Auntie Laurie after the commissioning ceremony

Jenn, Ab & Me at dinner. Look at that sunburn!

Sisters by the Hudson

Jenn with my parents after dinner

Over the weekend, Jon and I attempted to create and document an epic breakfast. Between Jon’s incredible cooking skills and my love of breakfast, I figured the whole process would go smoothly. Take some photos, cook some food, write something clever; I’ve seen a million bloggers make it easy. Turns out, it’s really not.

The first hurdle I approached was figuring out WHAT to cook. For my inaugural food post, I wanted to use a family recipe, or something original that I didn’t just steal from Pinterest. My Yiayia’s spanakopita recipe was off the table, since it takes almost three full days to prepare. And the Vasil family pasta sauce recipe should be kept close to the chest. After much deliberation, I settled on the most versatile breakfast dish ever: a Frittata. (With home fries.)

Frittatas are great because you can fill them with virtually ANY ingredients. It’s fun to use last night’s leftovers as ingredients, too! Home fries take on the same flexible quality when you mix up the seasoning.

You know what ISN’T flexible? The lighting in my kitchen. That was the second hurdle we faced. Photographing food is really hard! I have a great DSLR, but I also have crazy unsteady hands and no flash attachment. Without an abundance of natural light, the photos came out mediocre at best. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the very beginning. (A very good place to start.)

The journey began when Jon and I came across the Allston Food Market on our way to the grocery store. We did a bit of exploring, searching for fresh ingredients to enhance our flavors. I almost bought a loaf of this great looking bread, but ultimately decided against it.

At this point, I was dead set on using rosemary to season the home fries. Inspired by our great success making rosemary cornbread, we were delighted to find fresh rosemary at one of the booths.

I always find it interesting to see the “fresh” form of herbs I usually buy dried. I had no idea rosemary looked like that! And look at how red those radishes are! While convenient, the Allston Food Market had a limited selection, so we made our way to Stop and Shop. This is what we got:

The eggs, goat cheese, chicken, spinach, southwestern seasoning, garlic and shallots we used for the frittata. The home fries took red potatoes, rosemary, thyme and chives. But like I said before, the recipe is super versatile. Initially, I wanted to make a buffalo chicken frittata with blue cheese and onions, but Jon had a mini intervention. Not only am I semi-addicted to anything buffalo style, but we’ve been trying to keep it healthy around here. Thus, we settled on our own take on a southwestern chicken frittata.

Jon seasoned the chicken with salt, cracked pepper, and the southwestern seasoning.

Again, we see how difficult it was to get a nice photo in my kitchen. Even with a mini tripod, my best option was to crank up the ISO setting on my camera and hope for the best. Therein, the overall quality of the photos suffered. After about twenty minutes trying to photograph chicken cutlets, I got in trouble for not chopping potatoes. Jon snapped this shot while the chicken cooked on the stovetop:

Once the chicken was done cooking, we used two forks to shred.

Meanwhile, we cooked down the spinach with butter, garlic and shallots. Then cracked open eight eggs and whisked them together.

Next, we mixed the chicken in with the sauteed spinach. Then added the eggs. Then the crumbled goat cheese on top. The mixture sat in the pan until it was about half cooked, at which point Jon stuck the whole pan under the broiler for about seven minutes. We always eat frittatas at room temperature, so once out of the oven, it sat on the counter until it cooled off. That gave us time to toss the potatoes with chopped fresh rosemary, thyme and chives. Then salt, pepper, and garlic salt. Sauteed on the stove top until lightly crispy.

Don’t those look so yummy? As it turns out, fresh herbs aren’t much better than dried herbs. But after all the planning and shopping and photography, it was finally time to eat this food.

You can see Jon’s creative ketchup garnish above. Apparently he has Parkinson’s.

Since the recipe was completely original, I wasn’t sure how it would turn out. It probably didn’t help that the food was cold by the time I was done taking photos. Regardless, the frittata was incredible! And the potatoes were much improved with a little hot sauce. All in all, it was a great meal and a great first food blog attempt.

PS: do you like the redesign? I sure do!

Yesterday I experienced the greatness that is the SoWa Open Market. The skies threatened rain all morning, while Bostonians flocked to the South End bazaar. The local vendors displayed their products in the most pleasing of manners; their warm smiles adding value to their merchandise. I wandered aimlessly for hours, meeting artists and designers and small business owners, taking photos where I could. These people always inspire me. They’re living their dreams: designing a line of clothing, crafting a line of jewelry, or making delicious food. They work hard to support themselves. I just love it!

I went a little nuts with the photography in this post, but all photos are originals. Here are a few highlights:

My first stop was at The Fashion Truck where I met Emily, the owner and operator of the boutique-on-wheels. Still jet-lagged from a red-eye out of Paris, Emily told me about her recent meetings with international designers to discuss her new line of rings. While in the process of erecting a dressing room, she noticed my frantic search for a pen and kindly offered me one. She was lovely. Not to mention the clothes! Wow, great taste, Emily.

The next stop was at Sweet Lydia’s Gourmet Marshmallows and S’mores. Lydia was recently featured on SoWa’s facebook page for her new line of gourmet candy bars; affectionately called “bricks of goodness.” I was drawn to her table for this reason:

Lydia says the sign is what initially draws most of their customers. But the free samples help, too.

At this point, it’s safe to say there wasn’t a particular method to my madness. I began my journey in the Farmer’s Market and photographed whatever caught my eye. I always asked the vendors before snapping away, but they were happy to oblige. Free publicity, man!

Not long after bypassing rows of flowers, I stumbled upon a woman with a box of live bees. Golden Rule Honey boasts the best quality unfiltered honey from beekeepers who do not alter their bees with chemicals or sugars. Folks were lining up for even a small taste of the honey! There was definitely a buzz about this booth. Find out more at BeeUntoOthers.com.

I was admittedly terrified of the bees, since I have a debilitating fear of bugs, but still got close enough to snap that last photo. At this point, I decided to explore the real reason I came here: to check out The Dining Car. My boyfriend started working on the truck about a month ago and can’t stop talking about how great it is. The food, the atmosphere, it’s a great place to grab something delicious on your lunch break. The Dining Car was parked in the Food Truck Market, which lined the edges of the SoWa Open Market.

Here's Jon laughing at my kneeling on the ground.

Since I was there, I just HAD to try the Crispy Cauliflower with curry aoli. It was incredible:

One of the great things about the SoWa market, is that 95% of vendors have credit card capabilities. I mean, who carries cash anymore besides servers and strippers? When I came back to The Dining Car closer to lunchtime, the line to order was 20 people deep, and Jon was efficiently taking orders on an ipad with a credit card attachment. Since he is a master of customer service, he’s been dubbed the designated customer service liaison for the food truck. 

The next few stops, I indulged by perusing the booths with the coolest t-shirts. I started at Artichoke, where the nautical themes and hand painted designs drew me in. It was the kindness of the designer, though, that kept me there. You can see her sitting in the corner of this photo of my favorite shirt. I love anything with an anchor on it.

I wandered over to Fuzzy Ink where their Movember mustache clothing line to benefit prostate cancer research had me smiling the whole time. I bought Jon a shirt that says “Ask Me About My Mustache.” And I really want this pillow.

My last t-shirt stop was Sharp Shirter, where the classic struggle of man versus animal is immortalized via clothing. I’ve seen Jon salivate over the shirt featured below.

You still with me? It seems I’ve gotten a bit long winded. Take a break if you need to. Go get some coffee. In the meantime, I’ll tell you how the next stop I made turned out to be my favorite. I met Nicole of Nicole Lebreux Original Apparel. Being an average-sized woman herself, Nicole understands the struggle of trying to fit into the classic mold of slim-cut clothing. To combat that, her designs are made to fit your body. She makes custom-made bathing suits. I kid you not, she’ll take your measurements and design the suit just for you. Pick out the fabric and the cut you want, and you’ll have yourself a sturdy suit that you never have to worry about popping out of. The colors are gorgeous and Nicole was so sweet, I kept going back to visit her! She’s got a line of original dresses, too. Here’s a look at what she’s got:

While Nicole’s clothes are original designs, her accessories are sold as part of her vintage collection, something she has a passion for.

I made my way inside to the Antiques Market: 3 warehouse-sized rooms filled with antiques vendors. You could honestly find anything. Here are a few photos of my favorites:

When I ventured back outside, the crowd had grown more numerous. The sun was finally cracking through, and Boston was recovering from it’s collective hangover. I worked my way through the figurative sea of people to Emrys, where I was delighted by their jewelry “inspired by bygone eras.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the Harry Potter Bracelet that you can kind of see below. (3rd from right)

I was also dazzled by their cameo pendants. Here’s one on a great, chunky leather bracelet.

The last truly memorable stop was at The Utopian Collection, where the gorgeous Chelsae was playing a ukulele and being generally amazing. She shyly let me take her photo, as most adorable people don’t know they’re being adorable. Chelsae told me all about her 30-day challenge: to make one bag a day for 30 days. “It lasted 90,” she said. “Yesterday I made my own tent sides, which still counts.” You MUST check out her collection.

I hope you enjoyed hearing about my discoveries! Since it was opening weekend, there were more vendors than usual, but the Market will be there every Sunday while it’s nice out. The last group of photos are random shots from some really great booths.

OhHowCuteCoasterCo.com

OhHowCuteCoasterCo.com

Zooguu.com

Zooguu.com

Quinn Popcorn

Happy Monday, everyone! Support local businesses!

As a recent college graduate (2011), I’ve been facing the cruel realities of a declining job market first hand. Everyone talks about how difficult it is to find a job after graduation, but I never thought it would get so bad, especially considering my co-op experience. Regardless of my padded resume, and very expensive degree, it’s nearly impossible to find work. At least, legitimate work. I’m currently temping through a company here in Boston, but still searching for something. Anything. I mean, beggars can’t be choosers, right?

Jon and I admiring my degree. Plus a secret service agent on the right.

Wrong.

Just like relationships, being selective can help you better understand what you definitely DON’T want as a career. At this point, anything seems better than nothing. But I can promise you that’s not true. Take, for instance, the generic marketing job posting I found on Craigslist and then applied for.

First of all, I was a little confused by the fact that I couldn’t find a website for the company. But the job description was for a marketing gig, so I figured I might be doing just that… designing the website that doesn’t exist yet. Turns out the company has been around for a while. I still didn’t know what the acronym “GSI” stands for though. Global Solutions Incorporated? Generic Sexual Innuendos? Gorilla Slaughtering International? I had no idea.

Even the gorilla is worried.

I was asked to come in for an interview the day after they received my resume. They must have been really impressed with me, or I was the only one to fall for this job poster that probably isn’t even real. A woman from their HR department sent me an email at 8am on Tuesday. At 10am, I received a phone call from the same woman asking me to please call them right away to schedule an interview. So, I did… and I started getting excited. Finally I can quit temping and actually begin a career! But I was still a little concerned about the legitimacy of the whole thing. It’s rare to see a company respond to an applicant that quickly. I still couldn’t find a website. But at that point, I was pretty unhappy at my temp assignment so I was trying to be open to new opportunities… especially in this period of transition in my life.

My first impression was that the location was weird. The office is located in a building with tons of other businesses in it, and I had to go up these stairs through an unmarked, hollow, wooden door. I had gotten lost on my way over there, and called to ask for directions. When someone other than the HR rep answered the phone, I felt confident that it wasn’t just someone luring me to kill me. A man answered and I ended up speaking to him twice on the phone. Okay, starting to get a little better. So I was in the parking lot, buttoning up my shirt (I didn’t want it to get wrinkled so I kept it hanging in the back of my car) and the HR rep came out and introduced herself. First of all, super uncomfortable! This woman wasn’t supposed to see the incredibly messy interior of my car (gym clothes!) or me basically changing my clothes. The interaction was about as awkward as a school dance. Nothing about this place was normal.

Napoleon Dynamite

So, I walked into the office and no one was there. The guy Caleb who was about to interview me came out (same guy that answered the phone! ONLY TWO PEOPLE WORK HERE?) to greet me, saying he’s in another interview. I looked around and there’s a desk and a whiteboard and a few rooms. It just seemed… makeshift. Or rushed or something. So, he led me to a little room with tons of Boston sports teams paraphernalia and a tv and a fridge. He said I can change the channel if I want to. So, here I find myself sitting in a tiny room watching Criminal Minds, waiting for my interview… and again I think how much more strange this whole process keeps getting. Caleb eventually brought me into his office, but I was so taken aback by the weirdness I was feeling that I couldn’t remember how to give a good interview. I found myself tripping over my words and trying to show that I’m not a total idiot.

Finally, Caleb explained the job situation. They’re looking for someone to start entry level and move up to management in a year. 3 months doing entry level marketing. Then, become a trainer. Then assistant manager. Then running an office. In under a year. Running an office, the salary is 150k/year. So the whole time, I was thinking… alright, what’s the catch? Is this a scam? Well… what exactly is the marketing entry level position? “You’ll be going business to business handing out samples of the product of companies we represent and doing a bit of sales.” I’m terrible at sales. And I told him that when he asked if I think I could do this. I CAN be outgoing if need be, (I’d much rather sit alone in a room and write, but human interaction is fine too) but am I going to be standing with a clipboard harassing people on the street? Handing out RedBulls to college kids? I need a job, but not that badly. He said that right now they’re marketing makeup. So.. I’d go into, say, a tanning salon and say “Hey everyone who works here, want some free makeup samples?” I could do that for three months if it means moving to management quickly. But then again, it could also be something totally awful.

The interview lasted 5 minutes. He asked me to come in for a second interview and I agreed to go in for a shadow shift on Friday to check out what this entry level job is like.. and to see how legit the whole thing is. I’m too young not to try something new. And right now I’m just temping… so why not go and check out an opportunity? Hopefully they weren’t going to lure me somewhere to harvest my organs.

Charlie the Unicorn

On Friday, I showed up at 9am and felt relieved to see other cars parked in the lot. I glanced into the backseat of the car next to mine and saw samples of the makeup Caleb said the company gives out. I walked up the stairs and heard a chorus of chatter and excitement coming from the once creepy and empty office. The door was locked, so I knocked. “Someone is here!” I heard from the other side. The door opened to a diverse group of people gathered informally. I could feel their eyes studying me and ignoring me. “We’re passing judgment on you but we don’t really care about you.” What is this, high school?

Mean Girls

I was escorted back into the tiny room with the TV and three other candidates were already there. Two older African American women dressed as if they were on their way to church, and one well-dressed man in his early 40s wearing gold cufflinks and a chunky sports watch. I was the youngest person in this room by at least 20 years. No one said a word as we kept our eyes glued to ESPN, which is seriously reaching for material on a Friday morning. One of the women started coughing hysterically and I checked the mini fridge for water, but it’s totally empty. I apologized as if it’s my fault and hoped secretly I don’t get coughed on. I checked my phone and it’s 9:30. We’ve been waiting in this room for half an hour when a bright-eyed, blonde kid told us he’s taking me and the cougher on a joint second interview. I later find out he’s 21 and “taking online classes at the Harvard extension school.” This guy doesn’t have a degree; neither is he attending a real college. Why am I not surprised?

I downloaded this photo and it was originally named: Online College Death.

We all got in our cars and drove to the mall, where we ended up in a booth at Panera. The kid, the cougher, and me, plus their newest employee who’s in training. After ALL of this hassle, I finally found out what the entry level job actually is: commission-based sales. Not free sample marketing. I was immediately turned off to the job. After we all chatted for a bit, the kid took us out to a random store in the mall on a “sales call.” And this was the icing on the cake.

We walked in to Loft, right up the counter and as soon as the kid holds up the bag of makeup, the women behind the counter start physically backing away from us. He begins his spiel and they hold up their hands, telling him it’s store policy that they’re not allowed to talk to sales people like us.  At the next store, the same thing happened. We walked back to Panera and I asked him, “So, how do you get around the fact that soliciting is illegal?” He made up some excuse about how developing relationships is important, but even so… soliciting is ILLEGAL.

Later in the day, after the interview, Caleb called me to offer me a job. I turned it down.  No way in hell I’ll do commission-only sales. Thanks anyway, but I’d like to have a job where my degree actually matters.

May the Fourth be with you.

So Wise.

Have you ever been stuck in a rut? A feeling of complacency looms over your dinner-in-front-of-the-TV routine. Time spent with your significant other involves sitting on the couch, playing on your phones, generally disengaging from one another. It’s easy to fall into a stagnant lifestyle in the winter. Leaving the house is such a chore, and it’s so cold out that staying wrapped in your leopard print Snuggie is by far the best option.

I have good news! There is solace in spring. Just like bare legs start to reappear, so should you. Leave the house! Go on a date. The trees are all beautifully in bloom, and there are tons of baby ducks around: casually crossing busy streets, holding up traffic. I mean, it’s hard NOT to be in love in springtime.

Since none of us have left our apartments since November, I’ve compiled a list of 8 great date ideas to do around Boston. These excursions range in price, so you can pick and choose based on your financial means. If you’re not a Bostonian, feel free to adapt my ideas to places in your own city. All it takes is a little digging and you can find some great deals for creating lasting memories.

1. Ten cent wings at Red Hat

Sunday – Tuesday. This place isn’t the most conveniently located (close to the Government Center T stop… but down some side streets) or the best of quality, but the wings are good and the beer is cheap. Jon and I tried it not too long ago and were really happy to discover such a great deal on wings! Perfect for an easy Sunday or much-needed after work treats.

2. The Clayroom in Brookline.

Ever heard of Color Me Mine? This is the same idea, except it’s way more adult friendly! Pay between 18-25$/each to paint your own ceramic piece and have it professionally glazed! Even better, the place is BYOB. Bring your own wine, beer… whatever your poison. On Tuesday nights, they order free pizza for all patrons! On Wednesdays, pay a flat rate of 30$ and enjoy complimentary wine and cheeses… painting and ceramic piece included in the cost! At first, my boyfriend wasn’t into the idea. When I mentioned that we could bring beer, and he changed his tune.

3. Tres Gatos Tapas in Jamaica Plain

This fusion restaurant prides itself on also being a book and music store. I’ve never had tapas before, and I’m not even sure what they are, but this place looks awesome. It’s actually right around the corner from my house! The first Thursday of every month, they feature the work of a local artist. This spring, we’re definitely checking this place out.

4. Institute of Contemporary Art

Located on Seaport Blvd, they have FREE admittance on Thursdays from 5-9! I always see the creepiest and most fantastic advertisements for the exhibits they house. The thing about museums is: Once I can get past the initial childhood aversion to spending a “boring day” at a museum… I’ll inevitably discover something incredible.

5. Sinatra Sundays at Lucky’s Lounge

If you tried to find this place on your own, you probably wouldn’t be able to. There’s no signage, and the restaurant is down a set of sketchy-looking stairs. The South End favorite has quite the following, yet it feels like you need a password to get in. On Sundays, Lucky’s boasts a Sinatra lunch where a live band pays tribute to the famous crooner. Even the lounge itself feels as if you’ve been transported to a different time of speakeasies and great music. Getting lost in the South End is totally worth it when you eventually find this proverbial hidden treasure.

6. Sam Adams Brewery Tour

In case you weren’t aware, Sam Adams originates from Boston. It’s our pride and joy. Our local flavor. What’s better is the Brewery is located right in my little town of Jamaica Plain. They offer tours for a suggested donation of $2/each, and you walk away with a small Sam Adams tasting glass. FUN FACT: The man on the front of the Sam Adams bottle is NOT, in fact, Samuel Adams. It’s Paul Revere. (Learned that in my history of journalism class. See? My $45k/year education is coming in handy.)

7. Mr. Bartley’s Burgers in Harvard Square

Jon and I went here by accident on his birthday! The line was too long at Border Cafe, so we ended up here instead. Do you like a side of political commentary served with your dinner? The names of sandwiches change often according to societal political climate. I think I ordered the “Newt Gingrich” last time. Best part? The burgers are 10 bucks and the portions are HUGE. Worst part? No booze (= smaller check!); cash only. Still a great place though. Everything we ordered was crazy delish.

8. Fondue at The Wine Cellar

This last one that I absolutely can’t WAIT to try could be on the pricier side.. but good to keep in mind for a birthday or anniversary! Located in Back Bay, they have a great fondue menu. It’s about $25 for two people to share a fondue pot, plus drinks and whatnot. I’m gonna make Jon take me there to celebrate whenever I get a real job!

I hope you enjoyed the first ever installation of Alliteration Obliteration. I promise to share the origins of the epic name some day. You’re too young to hear about it today!