In Which Our Heroine Packs Her Life Up. Again.

Well, the big move happens Monday. Over to England for six months. The packing has commenced.

You'd think it would be a lot easier - what with having done it before to take off for a year, but it is completely different and a lot harder. All the packing last time was hyper practical. Tent, sleeping bag, hiking boots, it all has to fit in the backpack and has to be carried. Now, all it has to do is fit within the luggage limit (which I've never ever gone up to), and yet it has to cover work clothes, non-work clothes, hiking gear, rowing gear, and always the clincher is shoes, shoes, shoes. Don't fit in compression sacks, can't wear the hiking boots with the work clothes, can't wear the work shoes to go hiking, take up all the space shoes.

I think you can tell by now, I'm not about to inherit the next "Imelda Marcos" shoe title. But still, the packing is a royal pain and a half becuase it has to involve all these weird things I'm not used to thinking about packing for. And I keep being seducted by the fact that since I have this extra huge bag and not just my backpack, I have what seems to be all this space. Soooooo much space. And I want to avoid filling it with soooo much stuff.

Monday. Ack! Graduation at 9 a.m. Sunday, then lunch with full on family (Mom, Gran, Uncle Bob), then small gap, and then graduation/farewell party. oh help me!

Love
Anne

In Which Our Heroine Realizes Her Identity
I realized it the other day.... I'm a Bostonian.

This is impressive, as I've never really felt like I was from somewhere before. We moved a lot when I was a kid. Granted, it was never very far, but it always was far enough to change schools (and once even change back.) But only one person I know lives in the town where I grew up now, and I wouldn't recognize the place if I went back. I'm not from there any more, if I ever was.

But I sat there on Monday, having taken most of the day off work to watch the Red Sox home opener against the Yankees, and even more importantly watch them get their World Series rings, and during an opening video of Boston sports moments (which was at least 20 minutes long) I realized I'm now *from* here. I recognize Bobby Orr and Ray Bourque, and I'm not even a hockey fan. I know why the new bridge should be called the "Bill Buckner Bridge," I know the curse of the Bambino, who Yaz, Teddy Ballgame, and Catfish Hunter were. I can name my senators, and even my US Representative. I know the history of Beacon Hill, where the opening shots of the Revolution were fired, that the Battle of Bunker Hill was fought on Breed's Hill, and that where the current tea party ship is docked is not where it was docked when Sam Adams and co staged the Boston tea party. I know that Evacuation Day is Marathon Day, when the Head of the Charles is, and the names of every bridge on the Charles for over 10 miles.

Most importantly (and this is the true test), I can "get they-ah from he-yah." And once you can do that, it is official. You are from he-yah.
Love,
Anne
P.S. Visa arrived today. Now that I'm from here, I'm leaving!

In Which Our Heroine Catches Up
Agh, almost two months, no posting. First off, the blog move. And hopefully eventually the move back. My exboyfriend was hosting this. This experience, while initially very kind, can best be described as a hassle. I don't think he particularly likes me (though he tries) and I've given up waiting for his exceptionally sporadic e-mails so that when they do come, they're a complete suprise. Actually, given how he lives his life, his e-mails always contain some sort of surprise, but that's an entirely different kettle of chum. At any rate, he decided to stop hosting altogether as my domain name was needed renewal and it all has gone horribly pear shaped, but never mind it'll get sorted out soon enough. I just couldn't deal with it at the time since.....

I just spent the last two weeks in hospital. Dramatic, eh? I'd mostly like to forget about it, but I can comment in the following semi-cryptic ways.
1) Salmonella is a small (and I've discovered tasteless) bacteria, but it is certainly stronger than I am.
2) If you're sick, you sleep for copious amounts of time.
3) Apparently, even if you take "attenuated" (read: weakened) GM bacteria for an experimental trial, you can still mount a spectacular immune response, even if you spend a week on uberantibiotics.
4) Hospital PJs suit no one.
5) Even good hospital food is still hospital food at the end of the day.

I'm out now, and I'm "fine"- a statement which can be taken to mean that I'm safe to be let into the general public, but still pretty weak, although getting stronger every day. And I"m hoping to go rowing later this week (numerous plans have been made.)

All of it seems to pale into insignificance when I just go outside and spring is definitely on the way. Somehow this was all confirmed by riding on the T this morning to come into town. There was this lad, he couldnt' have been more than 15, and he was going somewhere with a lass who if she was not his girlfriend needs to wise up and BE his girlfriend. The amazing thing about this kid was the way he looked at the girl. It was love, true love, quite possibly in a way you can only experience when you're that young and not bashed around by the vicissitudes of growing up and getting your heart broken here and there. Of course, part of growing up is learning to overcome the getting your heart broken part, but somehow I was really rooting for this kid and just hoping (beyond hope, I dare say. I remember what 15 year old girls are like. I was one, and I was not at that point worthy of such adoration, compared to say ...now!) that this girl really did appreciate him and the joy she created for this boy. It was hard not to stare like some sort of psychopath, but it did make me feel really exuberant and filled with the joys of spring.

Go out and appreciate someone that way. We'll all be better off.
Love
Anne-

In Which Our Heroine Tries to Create a Curriculum

I've wanted to teach law for about as long as I can remember, and I'm getting invited to submit a curriculum to do just that right now. I saw an opening for a course I thought needed to be in the progam, and so I'm going for it.

This is an interesting challenge, and not just because I finally get to be mean and cruel for a living if this all pans out. But there's lots of decisions you have to make. Like grading. How do I want to grade this class? I think there should be more writing in law schools, but I also think that writing a paper for a final grade is a bit of a cop out, especialy in a survey course, which this would be. I know in that instance I always wound up writing the paper, learning loads in depth for one teensy weensy slice of the subject, and frequently not paying attention for the rest of it (it rather depended on the strength of the lecturer.) I also tended to put it right off til the last possible minute, and I can't say my compadres were much better. But three hour exams aren't exactly the best way I think to get people to answer things - more to see if they can recall stuff under stress. Luckily for me I'm good at that, but I don't really want to sit down and have to wade through panicked writings of crapola. And so I arrived at the compromise of.....the take home exam.

It is this way with everything. And I'm just drafting the curriculum. Not being able to wait on the lectures, I've already started drafting PowerPoint presentations for those. Gosh, what a weenie.

Of course, the really cool thing about what I do and what I'm trying to teach is that the cases will at least get the kiddies (who are probably going to be older than I am) reading. Extreme Pornography - new case. Interesting take on obscenity. And of course the new case on the unconstitutionality of the bootlegging statute - where else in the law do you get to read about porn, sex, bootlegs and the rock band KISS? Nowhere but IP, baby.

Suggestions, anyone?
Love
Anne

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