Labor(Day)-ing it up in New Hampshire

Labor Day usually offers a respite from labor. Instead, on September 7, 2009, I clambered over moss-covered hills, tripped over exposed tree roots and drove up the highest peak in the Northeast. Restful? Not quite. Rejuvenating? Entirely.

Here are some photes from this trek.

We were definitely not in Boston anymore.

 

The world with which I am most familiar is the modern, civilized one. It is bizarre to me worlds like this are the most familiar to some others.

 

The "Old Man in the Mountain," a natural formation of rocks so organized as to resemble an old man's profile, once lived here. Old age and free radicals eventually caught up with him--I wonder if the proximity of a pretty busy highway had anything to do with it--and he took a tumble. A la Humpty Dumpty, he was never put back together again.

 

Phoenix, my little short-haired Dachshund, daring me to just try and keep up with him.

  

 A little taste of white water.

 

Not yet time for the leaves to turn. Knowing New England falls, I was just a few days early.

  

 The waterfall for which the little park/trail was named: Bridal Veil. (Did you know there are lot of such-named parks/trails across the U.S.?)

Random fun fact: Bette Davis fell in love with man who worked as a guide in the area and married him. When he died, she placed a plaque dedicated to his memory, "The Keeper of Stray Ladies." I managed not to find this plaque hidden among the many rocks along the trail. Not really a surprise. If you head that way, I wish you better luck. 

Phoenix enjoyed playing on and in between the slippery rocks.

 

The wondrous imagination of nature.

A view from Mt. Washington. Still below the tree line.

Another view. This time from the top. Too chilly/exposed for trees at this point.

 

I got a little chuckle out of this. Maybe I'm a fifteen-year-old boy at heart.

Pretty tall,for the Northeast anyway.

 

The cloud coverage was slightly eerie.

  

Young love above the alpine line. Looks smaller than it feels.

 

Two feet back well below the alpine line. Look at these blue skies. The clouds deceived me!

Returning to the world I know.

finis.

A timely and thankful twist on “Random 25 (+1)”

Remember way back (a.k.a earlier this year) when Facebook was inundated with people posting “25 Random Things” about themselves? I know. That’s practically an eternity ago considering current attention spans. If you don’t remember, just go to the Notes page and scroll back to February. You’ll remember. Whether you want to or not.

So in honor of Thanksgiving, here are (in no specific order) 25 things I’m thankful for:

1. My dog. His almond-shaped brown eyes, doggy breath and jubilant tail-wag always put things in perspective.
2. My friends. Especially the ones who unconditionally understand and accept me.
3. Family. I wouldn’t be who I am today without them.
4. Words. They speak to my soul and allow my soul to speak.
5. JetBlue’s All-You-Can-Jet pass. Without it, I wouldn’t have gotten to Seattle, Las Vegas, the Hoover Dam, the Grand Canyon, San Francisco and New Orleans before turning 25.
6. Abbreviations a.k.a. abbrevs. I can and will abbreviate just about anything and will look down on you if you can’t/don’t keep up. Obvi.
7. Alexander Skarsgård. Here’s to hoping he is really as single as he claims.
8. Boyfriend jeans. They are so much more comfortable than skinny jeans.
9. The struggle of writing. If it is not a battle, it is not worth it.
10. Starbucks. Yes, each of my favorite drinks (caramel macchiatos, gingerbread lattes, pumpkin spice lattes and now caramel brulee lattes—all nonfat but I doubt that makes much difference) have the calories of a meal. But it is still delicious satisfaction in a cup.
11. Pedicures. Impossible to feel bad after getting one.
12. Blistex Complete Moisture lip balm. A waterfall on my lips.
13. Free Wi-Fi. Every business should provide free Wi-Fi; even if for a limited time.
14. Sonic’s chili cheese tater tots. I once endured an hour and a half wait in a drive-thru line for them and would do it again. They make my taste buds dance and my belly smile.
15. Body butter. I would bathe in it if I could.
16. Grown-up vampire fiction. “True Blood” and Charlaine Harris’ “Southern Vampire” novels entertain me. And these vamps are much more delectable than the teeny-bopper, “Twilight” versions.
17. Ice cream cake. The box claims, "It’s what happy tastes like." I agree.
18. Pho. Noodle bowls reaffirm everything that is good and right in this world.
19. Sriracha. There is nothing it can’t improve. Except maybe ice cream and cake and other sweets. Notice the maybe.
20. Pilates. It does a body good.
21. 27th World Championship for my Yankees. Is there anything else to say except it was about damn time?!
22. Sushi. It allows gluttony without the guilt.
23. Sweet potato pie. It screams “The holidays are here!”
24. Chocolate. If loving it is wrong, I don’t ever want to be right.
25. Syracuse men’s basketball. Top 10!

26. (a bonus in honor of today) Sweet, sweet photos (a.k.a. photes). They remind me where I’ve gone, whom I’ve been with and what I’ve done while showing me where I still want to go, whom I still want to see and what I still want to do.

Happy Thanksgiving, happier eating and happiest napping! Save me a slice of sweet potato pie. Yum!
 

Oh, the luck of Kate Bosworth…

Some girls have all the luck when it comes to guys. Unfortunately, that girl in my life in Kate Bosworth; not me. It's like she's on high alert for any Hollywood hunk I crush on and, the moment the alarm sounds, she pounces.

As an adult, I've adored two actors: Orlando Bloom and Alexander Skarsgård. What can I say? I'm loyal in and to my far-fetched romantic aspirations.

Orlando and Kate were hot and heavy just long enough to convince me it was serious. I moved on. Then they broke up. Luckily for me, it was a little too late for me to hop back on the Orlando train. He took up with model Miranda Kerr and is--as far I as know--with her still.

Kate and her dating life (and pretty much her career) faded from the spotlight; besides pictures of her skeletal appearance on red carpets and at fashion events.

Fast forward to this past summer: I got HBO and became addicted to all things "True Blood;" especially Alexander Skarsgård. I hadn't been this giddy over a Hollywood guy since Orlando Bloom showed off his elf ears in "Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring."

Cut to the present: rumors are swirling around a romance between none other than Kate Bosworth and Alexander Skarsgård. How is this even fair?

I'm keeping my fingers crossed it's just a stunt to help her reputation (after the snogging-Chris-Martin-after-a-Coldplay-concert-even-though-he-is-married-and-a-dad gossip. Did he ever get around the suing the magazine that broke this story?) and to promote "Straw Dogs." But I'm not holding my breath.


Since nothing takes the fun out of unattainable crushes quite like the undeniable reality of their unavailability, I've decided on a new approach to my celebrity crushes: use a decoy and pray Kate's luck runs out (or I get some of that luck--whichever's easier).

Marine in a Past Life > Military Wife in this One

Sometimes I think, “Maybe I was a Marine in a past life. Or maybe I want to be/could handle being a military wife.” Then the episode of “Generation Kill” ends and my senses return.

Surprisingly, it’s the first possibility that remains within my realm of reality. How else could I have survived the mean streets of Staten Island (don’t tell me you haven’t seen that episode of “MTV’s True Life”) for sixteen years and thrived in the harsh environment of a Catholic elementary/high school for twelve years? To an extent, this all-(adolescent)-girl environment is probably worse than then elements of the Marine Corps. Seriously. Imagine 100 or so teenage girls in the same small classes, hallways and buildings for four years. And remember this is a private Catholic school in Staten Island. On top of this, my principal made Captain America look like a brave man and Encino Man look like a Mensa candidate. I won’t even get started on some of my teachers. They deserve at least one later entry of their own.

While I do not see myself shooting guns, launching grenades, defecating in public and doing other Marine-y activities, I am slightly afraid of how unoffended and how humored I was at the flurry of racial, sexist and homophobic slurs the men let fly. I know I should have been disturbed and angered but their camaraderie and comfort in each other reminded me of how my high school friends and I were, how some of us still are. We’re brutal and honest and sometimes both simultaneously but we know, in our hearts of hearts, we would do anything for each other. And that, at the end of each day, is what matters.

But the military wife thing, completely busted. No matter how much I adore the HBO mini-series, its writing and its stars, I know I could never handle being the wife of a soldier. I hold to the liberal side of political ideals and dislike how right the military tends to blindly lean. I also, on occasion, need to be the first in my man’s life. Not all the time. But certainly once in a while. I don’t think a soldier could afford that. And I know it would be impossible if he were on deployment. I refuse to be unfair to this imaginary soldier pining for my affection and especially to me.

It is also important to remember the fact these men are probably completely different in combat and among their brothers than in their civilian lives and among family and friends. A necessity for their survival and sanity, I imagine. Even though I harbor the hope there is a real-life, high-as-a-mo-fo-on-Ripped-Fuel Corporal “Ray-Ray” Person. Regardless, and almost in spite, of Episode 7’s revelations.

I also remind myself I’ve fallen for characters based facades created by Marines witnessed by an embedded “Rolling Stones” journalist (who I’m pretty sure developed man-crushes on and slight hero-worship for said Marines) and reworked by screenplay writers. Then I put on the next episode and my senses once again desert me. 

Commuter high and low

Few sights delight me on a New England fall night as much as the sight of the right bus. Especially if I have been shivering at the bus stop for twenty minutes.

This high is slightly hampered when an antsy person appears from behind me and pushes through to the front of the line. To an extent, I understand. It is damn cold outside.

What completely squashes my high is this person’s need, upon reaching the fare machine, to count out the proper change. Not only does this bring me down, it pisses me off. On top of how easy CharlieTickets/Cards are to pick up and reload, they save time and unneeded aggravation. For said person. For me. For everyone still standing out in the cold waiting to get on the bus.

Keep this in mind next time you push your way to the front of the line and then have to count out change. Unless you don’t mind death stares from a dozen or so other commuters.

Don’t we all need a little “Tough Love?”

I enjoy VH1 reality shows. Of this guilty pleasure, the guiltiest is “Tough Love.”

From the first episode of the first season, I was hooked. Partly because Steve Ward (the host/dating coach/matchmaker) cracks me up. His arbitrarily numbered rules partnered with his “Hot Seat” observations leave me speechless.

But, to be completely honest, I watch mostly because the women in “boot camp” strike me as… Well, there’s really no gentle way of putting it: I just didn’t think it possible women like them really existed. Don’t get me wrong. I have known many insecure women looking for love in all the wrong ways and all the wrong places. And then some. But the women on “Tough Love” are really something else.

Now, before you think I’m too hard on my own sex, I must say I sympathize and empathize with many of these women. I share most of their insecurities and delusions. I know many of their fears and hesitations. It sometimes scares me how much of myself I see on the screen. I’ve been burned by boys and men alike so I guess I’m not all that different from the “insecure women looking for love in all the wrong ways and all the wrong places.”

Maybe that’s the real reason I took so quickly to the show. And I can’t wait for more.

The Balance Beam of My 20s

"Happy birthday! You're old enough that, if you were to date a college kid, you'd be considered a cougar."

This is the first birthday message I received ON my 25th. Luckily, it was 7 a.m. (a.k.a. hours before I can be expected to be a functional human being) and I’m generally not attracted to younger men or my so-called friend would have been in serious trouble. Of course I knew he was joking. But he should know how turning 25 terrified me. All of my friends are familiar with the anxiety and fear that has plagued me with every birthday following my 21^st but this most recent birthday has been the worst.

My tension doesn’t even stem from how amazing my 21^st year was. Don’t get me wrong, being 21 rocked. I was a senior in college and completely taken with my classes, my friends and my unrecognized potential.

Maybe it’s getting older. I know I’m not old. With the advent of modern medicine, I may very well live to see my centennial birthday and then some. Hopefully I’ll stop fearing them so much if that becomes the case.

Another friend tried to console me. “I can’t wait to turn 25,” he said. “I think people will take me more seriously at 25. When I tell people how I old I am now, they look at me like I’m a baby.”

Writing this has made me realize I can’t do anything about getting older. But I can change how I look at it. And, for now, maybe that’s enough.