In Which Our Heroine Takes on MassBike and in particular Tom Revay
(There was a Christmas in England, part the second, but it was depressing and the computer seems to have committed suicide (ok, the cat unplugged it) roughly two minutes before posting.)
Whew.

It has been a harsh couple of days.

As many of you know, I used to volunteer and be a member of MassBike. And I left them. I left for a number of reasons. The biggest reasons were:
1) The stuff they were accomplishing wasn't very much.
2) What they were accomplishing mostly seemed to be happening outside of Massachusetts.
3) My volunteering efforts got left by the wayside, both by the staff members and the people who were supposed to be leading my volunteer efforts, and
4) a guy called Tom Revay.

Tom, and I've said it before, but not in print like this, is a certifiable, grade-A, class one jerk. When I first met him, my overwhelming reaction was "why is this guy so angry?" coupled with "really, shouldn't someone be coming by any minute to adjust his medication?" He's a computer guy, which is probably just as well - he doesn't have to have a lot of social interaction with people. Sadly, that shows.

Unfortunately, this week MassBike/Tom and I had cause to tangle again, which is a bit of a shame as I was hoping it was pretty much said and done. MassBike was holding a meeting to organize a Boston chapter. No biggie for me. I obviously wasn't going to go, and eh, it is a blip on the screen. But someone on a list I'm on asked for a sort of press thing whether or not people were going to go to this meeting and what they thought of the idea. My mistake was answering. I started typing and said that I wasn't going, and wasn't too impressed with MassBike. Sadly, Tom was the first person to reply. Thankfully though he gave a list of what he considered to be MassBike's accomplishments. Since he's their VP, he was speaking for the organization. He obviously didn't recognize my name, but in trying to throw him a bone, I cited back to a circumstance where I'd met someone at another event. I honestly couldn't remember if it was Tom or the old MassBike pres Tim, since I've met them both a number of times. Tim's an ok dude, Tom you've already heard me rant about. Either way, I figured a bit of the old physical description would certainly trigger a few memories for him. Let's face it. I've got that special physique. To meet me is to know you've done it.

It didn't trigger anything. I guess he's that much of a jerk to everyone.

He certainly kept right on being that much of a jerk to me on line. I would respond to points, he would start spewing reactionary vitriol. I would say, for example, that it was a waste of MassBike money to send people to DC to lobby the Mass Congressional delegation, and he would say that since he thought the Exec Director was nice and not paid enough it was the least they could do. These are not arguments that were exactly winning me over. He did invite me back to the organization once, but I missed it until he had to point it out again. Of course, I missed it because he also called me a troll, ranted on and on about how I should have read the newsletters for MassBike even though I didn't belong any more, and generally acted like the Tom I had encountered previously. And this guy is their VP? He's their elected public representative? This is not an organization that I want to belong to, and certainly not re-join.

I was put in a bind at the end of the day though when their new Exec Director, Dorie Clark, e-mailed me personally to say that she had been reading the thread and apologized for my previous bad experience, and that if I wanted to come back, MassBike would be enthused to have me.

I was impressed by this. For a first encounter, this shows a bit of moxie on the Executive Director's part. I e-mailed her back and said:
1) I was impressed she'd done this.
2) I didn't have a bad experience at MassBike, I'd had a *really* bad experience.
3) Tom Revay was not a great advocate for the organization, and that getting e-mails from other staff members at MassBike saying that they thought maybe I'd left because someone disagreed with my ideas was not helping either.
4) If there was tangible change at MassBike, I would consider re-joining. But for now I was winding up my other charitable commitments with a view towards leaving the country for 8 months, so now was not the time for a number of reasons.

A small conversation ensued. I think it is still on-going. Feeling that it was poor form to bad mouth Tom to the ED behind his back, I sent Tom a copy of the e-mail. Jerk or not, he should know what has been said about him, good or bad. That's only fair. Dorie informed me that he's not a paid staff member, but he is (as I already knew) on the board and the VP. That's pretty prominent to me, even if it is unpaid. But there's something about Dorie which says to me that she may be the one to turn this organization around and actually achieve some of the things they set out to do. If that's the case, I'd seriously reconsider joining. Because at the end of the day, it is a cause I'm passionate about, and would like to get stuff done. Of course, with this guy spouting off, not much actually is going to get done as he's so incredibly offputting, so de facto if stuff is going to happen, he's going to get shut down somewhere in the process. That's a shame, as he's obviously enthusastic as well, and that enthusiasm should find a way to get channeled. Maybe serious behavioural therapy can mold him into a more productive member of society. In the meantime? I'll stay out of MassBike, and right out of the whole spiel.

In Which Our Heroine Takes a Wee Holiday, Part the First
Ah, the holidays. What better time to go on holiday. With those air miles in the "use em or lose em" category, I opted to use them, fly in a day before the black out period, fly out the day after it ended, and voila. Two weeks in England at next to no cost.

On arrival, I realized that it was a good thing that I hadn't paid for the flight as in fifteen years of trans-Atlantic travel, this was the worst exchange rate I had ever seen. One pound could easily be had in the local bank. Easy, that is, if you ponied up $2.08 for it. Yikes! This took my budget from "tight but comfy" straight to "austere." But never mind, I already had loads of pressies for everyone, the shopping was done, and I was there to enjoy myself.

The enjoying started immediately with Steve taking me to dinner at the local pub. Now, his local pub is about the nicest one I've ever been to in my life, so that worked for me. The food was excellent. The wine was excellent. The shot of brandy was excellent. We left the car in the lot, grabbed my backpack and went to the house, which wasn't far away. Single malt scotch ensued, as did loud music, and soon enough it was beddy bye time. (For those of you uncertain about my relationship with Steve, let me hasten to add - I sleep in the spare bedroom. Always have, always will, never want anything different.)

The next day dawned without anything like the hangover I deserved, but I soon began to wonder if indeed I was losing my mind as a foot long green parrot perched in the apple tree outside while I was making a cup of tea. Inquisitions did reveal that in fact parrots are now almost native to Thames Ditton, but it was still quite a shock to me. Apparently, Steve will get flocks of them in the tree on occasion. Thames Ditton, the new tropical paradise. I headed up to London for lunch with Neil.

Lunch with Neil is always good, and this time was no exception. He had plenty of news, but not a lot of time, so we made plans to catch up the next week. That didn't happen, and it was all my fault. I hope I shall be forgiven. Neil's a forgiving type of guy.

And then off to Cirencester. Good show, that. Greeted by the small children in an appropriate manner (the flinging of little arms around my knees so that I nearly trip and fall over), and a great dinner waiting, I handed out presents with some glee. But nothing quite like the glee of young wee James, who insisted that Auntie Anne sleep on the trundle bed in his room. I had asked his father on the way from the station if he was sure he wanted me to give the young lad what would no doubt be older woman fantasies for the rest of his life and Mark seemed to find it acceptable. (He would - he married an older woman. Not that you can tell!) I, and not for the first time, was glad to have packed my flannel jim jams. Sexy? Not.

But by the time I got to bed, I was very exhausted, and then couldn't fall asleep for ages. So the next morning I slept in. James was very considerate. It turns out that he has taken the standard interest in Harry Potter and witchcraft and informed his Mum that he was just going to check on me "as I think someone has put a curse on Auntie Anne." The curse of the deep sleep - I highly recommend it all. He was very impressed I woke up out of it. He was then also very impressed that we were going into town and I was going to teach him to knit. I have never, ever, seen a child so excited about learning to knit. I only hoped I could teach him. It seemed to work. He is incredibly patient. A scarf was created for Teddy, and when I left a scarf was being created for his sister's teddy. There will forever be warm bears in Cirencester.

Part the second to follow......
Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Has Some of "Those" Experiences

We all have them from time to time. A fully grounded real world experience that is the equivalent of a full on out of body experience. Deep within finishing off this blasted LLM (itself a rather out of body experience) I keep having these sorts of experiences all the time, and find that I quite enjoy them as at least they keep me laughing. They include:
- the look of sheer amazement on my now ex-boyfriend's face when he realized that breaking up means no more of those great kisses hello. You could almost see the gears grinding together to figure out that that was the starting point of what wasn't going to happen any more. What part of "we're through" he was failing to understand, I don't know.
- calling a friend, and listening to her two and a half year old clamber to talk to me on the phone. She didn't quite make it, but within two seconds after Mommy put the phone down, we all discovered that la bebe knows how to hit "redial." The following conversation, of which I understood fully five words, was completely transcendental. I may have promised a kidney.
- having someone attempt to pick me up by saying "You! Come over here!" I kept on walking by, so he gave chase. I turned just as he put his hand out and transfixed him with such a stare that he froze in his tracks.
- Discovering that a 90 page government report is the answer to tomorrow's academic exam fears.

Two more days, and the degree is over. Wherever shall I go? Whatever shall I do? I may even have to get one of them there career things......nah, I'll just apply to divinity school. The next person to make a lawyers and lack of ethics jokes gets one of them there transfixing stares.
Love,]
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Marvels Without Seeing

Apparently, blindness ain't what it used to be. Stevie Wonder has ridiculed Eminem's new video. Now, Stevie's got a right to his criticisms, and the words he's used seem pretty valid, but I just can't get past the fact that he hasn't actually *seen* the video. And he's not going to either. Which is a shame, since of course I definitley prefer Stevie to Eminem. Stevie's got the music thing going on, and Eminem's got the flash in the tawdry gotta create a sensation to sell records thing going on. But for a blind guy to comment on the contents of a music video (which don't relate to the song lyrics) well......there's better advocates.

Which reminds me, I was told a great story over the weekend. Bill Cosby apparently relates going over to Ray Charles' house at some point, and when he goes in, it is pitch dark. Makes sense, as why would Ray Charles turn the lights on? All the same to him. So Bill shouts out "Ray! What are you doing?"
"Shaving."
"In the *dark*?"
Then, of course, when Ray just burst out laughing and couldn't stop, Cos realized what a silly thing he'd said.

Back to papers.
Love,
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Goofs Up

Dateline: the library. I officially drove myself crazy today while working on my paper and wondering "what the heck is that buzzing sound?" Given that the computer lab has been tropical of late to say the least, and the computers occasionally start whirring for no known reason, apart from the fact the sound wasn't giving up, I just let myself be annoyed but didn't give it much more thought. It was just one of those things that happens in the lab.

Of course, 90 minutes later when I picked up my backpack and discovered that the sound had been the weight of my books pressing on my electic toothbrush to make it whirrrrrrrrrr, I was ready to throw myself out the window.

Yours in insanity, but with exceptionally clean teeth,
Anne xxxooo

In Which Our Heroine Dreams of When the LLM is Over

The LLM is over. Soon. Thankfully. As of December 14, I've got all the post-LLM time I can handle (of course, I have to get ready to leave the country and in the meantime have promised to try to set up lots of funding and sponsorship for a local charity. You know, because you just never can be too busy.)

But first, I have to get through these damn papers. The deadline is midnight Monday. I'll make it, and it won't kill me, but it *is* going to hurt.

And then....a blissed out week of just ordinary work work and getting ready to head to England for two weeks at Christmas and for New Years. Courtesy of the frequent flyer miles on my account, this is costing me next to nothing. As in, half the price of having my tooth pulled. And infinitely more fun. It also lets me set up trying to get myself one of them there job things while I'm in London for those six months.

In the meantime, it involves spending a lot of time in the library. Where I again re-discover that dreaded class of citizen, the day camper, I mean student. Now, Suffolk's night program is filled with all these PhDs from MIT and Harvard. Up there at teh top of the class they were a competitive bunch and kept me on the top of my game. But the night students and the LLM students all have a reason why they're in that particualar program. The night students are there because it is the best night program in the area, and they're over qualified and also holding jobs. The LLM students are here because they want this certain program, which is offered in no other law school in the area, and only very few in the country.

I've said it outloud, I'll say it on line. The day students are here because they couldnt' get into a better law school.

What do I base this assertion on? Simple observation. I've been spending WAY too much time in the library over the last couple of years, and there are way too many day students in my LLM classes. They are noticable at 100 yards. Basically, because even though they've had the same lecturers that I've had, they singularly failed to have learned anything. This becomes obvious when you hear them speak about the law. It turns into "wow. You paid a lot of money for tuition, you turned up and you just failed to learn anything. Anything." I once questioned a presentation by a day student with the opening line of "Are you honestly trying to tell me that....." That was rude of me, but I was just so shocked that anyone failed to grasp such basic concepts. Yes, it was true. He *was* trying to tell me that. I checked results later. He'd flunked the bar. I wasn't suprised.

I remember starting here as a night student, and a day student had written an article in the school paper about not getting a job. It was obvious why she hadn't - she couldn't even write a persuasive article about not getting a job. Grammar errors everywhere. You had to feel for the girl.

Other night students have noticed the same issues. It really is just shocking, and someone ought to give these students a short, sharp shock PRIOR to graduating. Because they're not getting one after!

Anyway, must get back to papers. And trying not to focus on the idiocy and LOUD TALKING that makes it so obvious.

Love to all
Anne xxxooo

In Which Our Heroine Gets a Wee Bit Antagonistic

We all know (or at least I know, and if you're a faithful reader, you know as well) that there's someone who has yet to ID himself to me down at the Department of Justice who checks in and reads this blog every week. This happens whether I write something on it or not.

This, obviously, concerns me. Mostly because I consider the DOJ under Ashcroft to have been filled with facsist weenies. And also because I think the DOJ under Gonzalez is going to make me nostalgic for the Ashcroft days. How scary is that?

Want to know what happens when this sort of power isn't checked?

This is what happens.

To all you at the DOJ fighting the fight for civil liberties, my hat's off to all seven of you. To the rest of you out there denigrating what America ought to be, you're getting your wish, and I'm leaving the country again for a while. End of Feb, for at least six months. Of course, I'll still be posting here, so you can
Bite
My
Fat
Scarred
Behind.

xxoo Anne

The Day After
I've said it before, I'll no doubt say it again. I hate George W. Bush. I can't believe people voted for him. Don't these people like having jobs, or health insurance, or a country without a massive deficit, or civil rights? Or do they really like sending their sons off to war, terrorist attacks (didn't anyone else find it weird that the only president to suffer foreign terrorist attacks on US soil claimed he was the best guy to fight it?), the cronyism of Haliburton and the simple fact that the abortion rate under Bush has actually risen?

I e-mailed most of my foreign male friends this morning and proposed marriage. I'm awaiting the answers. Of course the new boyfriend still has an Argentinian passport, so that could be the answer. Time to flee, peeps.
Love,
Yours under threat here in America.

In Which Our Heroine Attends a Beautiful Event

Well, I went to Canada. It was fun! I even handled the flight up there and back well, which for me is a miracle and a half. I handled the flight up there by being too stressed to have to worry about the plane crashing. This sort of thing will happen when a girl doesn't book her flights by herself. When instead someone books them for her online, I offer this top tip: review your flight plans closely. Not because there might be an error, but rather because it helps to know the difference between what time you land and what time you're going to take off. You guessed it. I made all my plans (including, eek, my packing plans) around taking off at 3:30. So I planned to be at the airport at 2. Of course, it turned out that my flight left at 2. Quickly, reconfigure everything. Then reconfigure again as this reconfiguring meant that instead of Bill taking me to the airport, I was going to have to take mass transit. Not a problem in and of itself, but it means less time. Your final calculations will reveal that you have forty minutes to pack, take a shower and leave the house. Time to get a move on.

It was later revealed that it was a miracle that I got there at all, since of course I left my travel wallet behind.

In Which Our Heroine Makes a New Start
Well, with my having returned from the great gay Canadian Operatic Wedding complete with featured show tune by the happy couple, you no doubt want to hear all about that. And I'll get to it, but I'm in the process of a whole new start on things. New job, details on new place to live, all sorts of the new, some of which I have been forbidden to blog about (a statement which my stupid mind then begins to categorize - have I been restricted via trade secret or a covenant not to compete? Does it matter? I'm still forbidden either way.) The lesson learned from that is don't agree to anything while you're still dazed and sleepy, as you'll agree to things that maybe you shouldn't. Never mind, i have agreed, and I will stick to both the letter and the spirit of the agreement. But first I've got to figure out the new job. Why didn't they give me a phone?
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Learns the Definition of a Good Party
Ah, that was quite the BBQ last night. Re-defined "good party." How so? Well, a good party is no longer one with sufficient booze (although that was the case), or good entertainment (although that was also the case) or even one where the police are called (although come to think of it, that happened too.) It turns out that a *really* good party is......

.....one where you clean up with power tools.

Having been a little more than slightly intoxicated (and the fact that my cell phone battery died, which means that I couldn't retrieve the phone number for my taxi service), the spare room, a clean t-shirt to sleep in and listerine (no spare tooth brush, but I survived.) was offered, and I took it. I woke up this morning to come downstairs and discover Mike doing the clean up, bless his wee cotton socks. He'd done a pretty good job, but somehow a shot glass had slipped into the garbage disposal, and was not going to be extricated. My initial impression was that I would at least give it a damn good try, and suggested using tweezers. This didn't help, but it did seem better than Mike's attempt, using a large wrench. I felt so clever, but I didn't know what I was in for. In the end, Mike broke the glass and fished the pieces out. Even breaking the glass proved difficult, but the wrench did the trick. Then, getting the pieces out (don't want to jam up the disposal) seemed like it was going to be ok as Mike has one of those chain mail or whatever gloves, so that he wouldn't get sliced. But that wasn't working as he couldn't feel anything to get it out of the drain still. The solution?

Shop vac. Mike hauled it up from the basement, and then just stuck the hose down in the drain and flipped the switch. Worked like a voodoo charm.

I admit, such a procedure never would have occured to my non-technical mind. But it did make sense after such a good party.

In which our Heroine Plans a Little Vacation.

Gosh golly, I'm going away for five days! I have known for a bit that I was going, as it is for two friends' wedding, but as I had not yet bought the ticket (much shuffling of paychecks had to occur) it somehow didn't all seem permanent.

But then yesterday, in the middle of another get away (a day trip along the coast to Portland with Bill and Les - so much fun!!!!) James and Eric phoned to ask me my travel dates, as they were going to use their air miles for my ticket! It is just so incredibly sweet it makes me want to cry. My friends are so fabulous! I feel that I should do something to say thank you, but I am baking their wedding cake (a croquembouche), making fortune cookies, a witness in their wedding and reading a poem (e e cummings, but I don't know which one yet.) For extra fun Emma is coming over for the wedding as well, and we're staying with Reid. As if that wasn't enough of a reunion weekend, my friend Jamie from last year's Head of the Charles (he stayed with us and won!) happens to be in Toronto that week as well on business!

Overwhelming thought: must buff up and lose 90 pounds in a month! Just kidding. But some buffness never hurts.

Love,
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Starts to Worry About Herself
Apparently, the faucet was only the start. Today, I replaced the toilet! It was too easy. I repeat again, I am not becoming a plumber!

I am, however, starting to become a little hyperactive. Replacing the toilet wasn't enough. I then did all the stuff that needed to happen to prep the bathtub for re-finishing (it is a little dingy) and am now picking out colour schemes to re-paint the cellar. Then I started re-arranging all the furniture in my room. What is a girl to do?

Actually, what this girl is going to do is settle down and start baking. I've been commissioned to bake a wedding cake in October and I need a bit of practicing.

Oh yeah, and school starts Wednesday.......

In Which Our Heroine Watches the Olympics
Finally, it is that time. We've all waited for it, and now it is here. Time for me to get all worked up over the fact that Bob Costas covering the opening ceremonies is one of the most offensive things out there. At least this time around, when he and Katie got bored, they just shut up. No more waffling on about how to pronounce triskadekaphobia, and how the nation of Brasil considered the entire month of August cursed. Gee, Bob, we're watching the parade of nations' atheletes at the Olympics. Why don't we discuss the sports they might be competing in?

Of course, for me, the Olympics mostly involves falling asleep while trying to stay up to watch the rowing events, which are all shown at 3 in the morning. Why? Because they're showing them live? Hardly. I guess it is because NBC doesn't consider tall, hot sweating hotties in spandex as worthy as gymnastics preliminary competitions. Or even advertisements. I miss watching the Olympics on the BBC - great commentary, no ads. I'm all nostalgic for my youth, and it wasn't that long ago!

In Which Our Heroine Succeeds
Ah, finally. I'm here. I've been trying to post for a couple weeks now, but there is some sort of compatibility issue between the new software and the new computer. So let's see where to start....

Adventures in Plumbing!
Aha! I have a great new landlady. Unlike our old one, who wouldn't even fix our doorbell when it was broken for weeks on end and we lived on the third floor (we fixed it in the end and took it off our rent), never mind things like the stove or the holes in teh linoleum, my shiny bouncy new landlady is not just willing to fix immediately, she's willing to upgrade. The shower head I brought (so that I can fit under to wash my hair) from three moves now was starting to leak at the joints, so on the condition I would leave it when I moved, she bought me a new one. A *better* one than I had. She's also re-done our floors, and when the sink started to leak from the top (it was very old) she bought a new one to replace it. I offered to install it.

This is where I went wrong. Now, in my landlady's defence, she offered to get a plumber. Heck, I was given the ability to call a plumber the second I didn't want to do this. But everything I read said that this was a relatively easy thing to do. Of course, everything I read also said that the trickiest bit about it was getting the old faucet OUT first. And this proved to be far too true. Gosh. And gosh again! Oh, the effort it took to get that thing out. The nuts would not budge. I even called Kit in the middle of it to say "Look, I've sprayed them with WD-40, what else can I do?" to which the answer seemed to be "Let's just double check you're trying to turn them the right way (I was, thankfully) and then just apply the force.

Force was applied. Unfortunately, the nuts were so firmly on there that the pipe stabilizing it at the top broke off so the nuts were now on a freely spinning bolt, but the faucet was still not going to come out. Kit had told me what I would have to do in this case, which was cut the bolt through. I could use a jigsaw, provided I had a hacksaw blade on it. A quick trip to Home Depot later, the blade was on. In the end, I was down on my knees grateful for the electric jigsaw - the pipe turned out to be so thick it was hard enough to cut with the jig - I can only imagine how much it would have taken to do it by hand!

Once the old faucet was out, the new faucet was put in. That part took ten minutes.

Then it took half an hour to clean up, mop the water off teh floor, put my sopping wet clothes in the laundry (I had, in fact, finished the job off topless as I refused to drench another shirt. WHo knew plumbing was so erotic?) and get on the sofa and refuse to budge!

In Which Our Heroine Confirms Her Brand Loyalty
Rowing, ah rowing. Bit of a passion of mine, which makes it highly weird that I really haven't been out this year. Until yesterday that is. Once a month in the summer my boat club hosts their "Harbor Rows" where you row down the Charles, through the locks, out into Boston Harbor down to the tea party ship, turn around and hang out by the USS Constitution for the 8am cannon fire, flag raising and playing of the national anthem. I have wanted to do this for so incredibly long I can't tell you. I think it was actually a big motivator behind joining this particular club.

First, I had to get a partner. The rule is you can't row it in a single for safety reasons - the locks, the swells in the harbor, that sort of thing. After Kit gave his usual no response response, I happened across the fact that Heike wanted to get back to rowing. We were a go! Bright and early (5:30. Um, well, we were scheduled for 5:30. I sort of mis-set the alarm clock and got there at ten to six. Bad me.) down to the boathouse, managing to snag my favorite Empacher double. But then alas alack it was taken away from me so that two guys who were heavier than Heike and I could row it. We had it pried out of our hands with the opportunity to row the shiny shiny new Filippi double. You know, try it out, put it through its paces.

Never again.

I have rowed, and in fact raced Filippi heavyweight doubles before and they were fine. Not great, but fine. But they've obviously done something in the new models which removes it from the category of fine and drops it to the category of "you've just got to be kidding me." They can be good boats, but from what I can figure out they're designed by little tiny Italians for little tiny Italians. If you're a lightweight, get a Filippi. If you're a big strong girl like me (or big strong guy), get thee an Empacher. This boat was so horrid that I had to swap out on the way back as the shin splints were that bad! No, and I mean no reach at the catch, so no real oomphage through the water, bad biomechanics therefore the shinsplints (no part of my body is sore today, so it wasn't a fitness issue, but my shins are still hobbling me seriously), and the gunnels were shaving the sides off my hips like a good parma ham. No no no no no. From now on, go Empacher for me or go home. I remember climbing into the Knauth down at the boathouse for the first time - it was like it had been custom designed for me. Ooo, the orgasmic bliss of that boat. Ok, so it has now been converted to a pair, but the other Empachers at the boathouse fit me just as well so it wasn't a one off. I think you can tell who the boat is deigned for in the mere length of the footstretchers. In the Filippi, even in the old one I was in danger of it slipping right off the end. Ditto in the new one. In the Empacher I've got bags of room. Case closed.

Boating nightmare aside, the harbor row was without question one of the coolest things I have ever done. It was all fabulous, much more fabulous than I had imagined except for what I thought would be the coolest part - the locks. I had expected much more swirling water and things. Frankly, it was so gentle you never would have even noticed what was going on apart from a quick glance at the tie ups on the side and going "Hey! Did the wall just move?" Good from a safety standpoint, and I'm certainly pro safety, but sometimes safe just isn't as exciting as you want it to be. I still had my wildlife siting of the day, but it was a very big jellyfish with an exceptionally long stingy tail which made me want to be extra certain that I didn't fall in. This was a whole new set of interesting issues I'd never thought aabout being in the harbour which apart from jellyfish included:
1) the fact that I've seen two con towers to submarines there in the past, and couldn't shake the feeling that at any minute we were about to start rising up into the air....
2) big signs by the coast guard cutters telling us not to come within 100 feet. The signs were posted by Homeland Security. It raised an interesting question - what exactly would they DO to us if say were were 75 feet from the cutter? Send another cutter after us? The wake alone would swamp us, and then we'd be jellyfish food. I know I'm a big girl, but these were big jellies.
3) the swells. They were mostly pretty gentle, but they took a little getting used to.
4) The wakes. Those harbor ferries throw up a pretty good one.
5) The cannon fire. Of course, we were there to see the cannon fire, but still an interesting thing to get used to. Don't get startled and let go of the oars.
6) The bridges on the way down. Rowing under the Zakim and the other bridges was pretty cool, but rowing under the Museum Way bridge until we knew for sure was a bit dicey. I think it is the first time I've ever been on the water and had to watch my head!
Love,
Anne

In which our heroine gets all hot and wet and loves it

I've waited some long months now for this evening. Long, cold, in fact freezing cold months where I just held on to a determination that some day I would once again be gasping in the delerium of being all hot, wet and sticky.

Tonight was the night.

Although the week started off cold and miserable again, the last two days have been building towards a thunderboomer. But not til the sun went down, I was sure of that. So I headed off for practice on the river, and between river water and good old fashioned sweating, my muscles got loosey goosey and I was glistening all over in a way that some would term "a healthy glow." I went back to work to finish some things up, then strapped on my clipless pedal shoes and hit the roads at speed. Still loose, filled with the energy that good exercise brings to your muscles, I sped out and noticed that it was coming. Just on the edge, but there were the sprinkles. The spatters. The rain was coming. And for the first time in achingly long, it wasn't cold rain that chilled to the bone. It was the sort of rain that was like riding in a warm bath, with the air still humid and the water invigorating. I wheeled across the Mass Ave bridge and noticed that the lightning was coming, but was over the harbour. Good views, but only minimal risk of electrocution, which is good for me. (Andrew remains convinced that I will be struck by lightning. I feel sure that he has a bet somewhere on it.) So I arrived home and burst through the door, lusting for some food and having that incredibly sexy feeling that I've heard Liz refer to as her "rowing goddess stance." I understood it at that moment. I was empowered and ready to take on the world.

Tel was home, and noticing my hunger for something good to put into my body, she presented me with a copy of the new book by her friend Steve Almond. It is called "Candy Freak" and is supposedly about one man's quest candy and the role it plays in his life. I say supposedly, as I will only start reading it tonight. Tel had been to the reading on Tuesday, but I'd been unable to go. Turns out she summed me up to him while he was inscribing it.

"She rows so she can eat candy." said Tel.
"Sounds like my kind of woman." said Steve.

The inscription reads as follows:
"Anne - strong women NEED candy! Freak on. Steve Almond."

Sounds like my kind of man.

In Which Our Heroine Remembers Her Childhood
When I was growing up, I have distinct memories of the OPEC led gas crisis. Shortages, lines, everyone was concerned with mileage, mileage, mileage. Cars started to be engineered for better mileage, and we were taught in schools all about alternative energy sources, and the shortages of fossil fuels - pollution, the fact they were finite, and acid rain came up a lot for good measure as well. Which is why I'm baffled with all the problems in rolling out more hybrid cars.

The Insight by Honda and the Prius by Toyota have been on the market here for a few years now. The Prius is in fact in its second incarnation - they re-did it to make it look a little sportier. Plus, there is now the Honda Civic hybrid, which you have to know how to spot (it is where the antenna is. Oh, and there is a logo on the back.) The Prius has a massive waiting list, and they're hard to get ahold of around here, although there are plenty of them around. There is a new one parked in the driveway around the corner from here, and I like to ogle it a lot. And I love Kit's Insight. (Love that car! I got to drive it twice. Happy happy memories. Zoom zoom zip zip, and the fuel economy!) Kit has been explaining stuff about hybrids to me via e-mail, and he is attempting to demonstrate how upping the mileage on his Insight to incredibly high levels doesn't save as much petrol as getting 11 mpg out of a Hummer instead of 9. I thought I grasped the concept, but I lost it. At any rate, this whole exchange was prompted by the Ford Escape hybrid, which isn't out yet, but was doing test drives around Manhattan on Monday. The figure I heard on Monday on the radio was that it got 30 mpg, and the one in the article I read was actually 38pmg. What I can't figure out is why, during the gas crisis, we already had cars making this kind of mileage, but how America abandoned them in favor of the SUV. I won't diatribe against SUVs here, there are plenty of other places to do that. Suffice it to say I don't like them, and when I had to drive one the other day I felt far less safe than ever before. Why has it taken so long for the hybrid to get to the market? The other hybrids have been there for so long! I'm not even explaining this well, I'm so confused.

I guess I'm confused about other stuff as well. Starting with the current govenment. I can't believe the stunts they're trying to pull over 9/11. If you question the administration at all, you're considered unpatriotic. And now that the stuff is exploding all over themselves and they're covered with muck, now they're trying a new tactic: blame the Clinton administration. You've just got to be kidding me.

There is knitting to be done, and I'm going to go sit and do it.
Love,
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Re-Joins the Working Classes
I'm a renaissance woman, it turns out. First, I got myself one of them job things. I'm now a furniture mover for Gentle Giant movers. Scarily, I like it. It is the sort of job where if the people weren't so great, it would really suck, but the people are incredible. Even more, the money is astounding. I've got all the hours and overtime I could possibly want, and amazingly people tip movers pretty often. The tip thing is a bit wild. I had tips before at Burdick's - but they didn't count for much. On a spectacular day, they might be a dollar an hour for the hours you'd worked (which never added up to the full 40 anyway). Here, sometimes you don't get them, but I've been tipped up to an extra $100 a day.

I have more to write, but I'm working too hard.... updated soon.
Love,
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Waits for the Secret Service to Arrive at Her Door
Now, I know from my website tracker that there's someone at the Department of Justice who reads this weblog far more faithfully than I update it, but I think this time the Secret Service could be dispatched. No, I have not threatened the President. That's against my theories as a pacifist. But I did send Dubya an e-mail. I was provoked to do so by those truly appalling ads invoking 9/11 for him to get re-elected. The whole thing was just too much to take. I mean, he's toting it around as he champions his "leadership" in the days following, but I don't really remember him actually *doing* anything that made me feel inspired that someone was in charge. Al-Queda? Still going, last time I checked, despite lots of my hard earned tax dollars flowing towards his great plans. Civil liberties? Not so many as we used to have, thank you Mr. Ashcroft. (Ok, I admit, I consider John Ashcroft's acute pancreatitis to have similar origins as the guy who plays Jesus in Mel Gibson's new movie getting whacked not just once but twice by lightning during filming. Which just goes to prove that the difference between schadenfreude and religious belief is pretty much a question of interpretation.) Jobs? Nope. What does that have to do with security? I know I feel a lot less secure not having a job.

So anyway, I lost it. It just seemed like rubbing salt in very open national wounds to use those images in what is basically a job application to the American public. And I was mad enough to track down his e-mail (president@whitehouse.gov, should you wish to do the same thing) to drop him a note to say "I didn't like this and I wanted you to know it." Except I dont' think he got it. It bounced back to me saying there was too much mail in the queue. Maybe everyone else was just as incensed as I was, but sadly I doubt it.

To get this off my mind, Liz and I took advantage of our local art house theatre to see a combination of five academy nominated short films at one go. An incredible evening, if a bit schizophrenic. It started off with the incredibly powerful "The Red Jacket" (Die Rote Something in its original language), which is somewhat set in the middle of the Bosnian conflict. In showing just how powerful not seeing something can be, there is a moment where the main character is shot. You don't see the bullet wounding, or the victim as it happens, but that shot got fired and I swear to you my heart stopped, my breathing stopped, time just suspended. I was too horrified to even gasp. From that 15 minute film, it went into the Oscar winning animation short, which was hysterically funny. And all the while my mind was still reeling from the movie I'd just seen. Then another movie set in Llubjanka during the Bosnian conflict, only not quite as shocking (it wasn't meant to be), but still there were bombs going off, which makes the mind shift again. Then more animated comedy. Then another serious drama short, only this time in present day France. Another excellent film, but very taut psychologically. Euow. My mind is still mulling it all over. But the overwhelming thought is to do go watch it again while I can!

Love,
Anne