New Blog

I can't seem to figure out how to insert a hyperlink to my new website, but please try to cut and paste the following address to get to my new site. It is pretty cool. You will be taken to the welcome page. At the top of the site is a navigation menu. You can click on photo albums or blogs or whatever. Give it a try!

http://web.mac.com/nancybakey/iWeb/Life%20and%20Times%20of%20Nants/Welcome.html

Growing up in Somerville...Baby Dolls, Sugar Daddies, and a Pack of Marlboros

Jules raised an interesting memory in her comment about my "Letter to Ricky Schroeder" blog entry. I was going to simply comment back to her, but then I realized that this memory is simply too good to relegate to a comment column in a past blog entry. Some of my faithful readers might never find it there and will therefore never be able to join me in reliving a priceless childhood memory.

I must have been 7 or 8 years old when this went down. That would have put Lauren at around 10, Jules at 11 or so, Reesie at 6 and Fwiz at a mere 4 years old.

I received a baby doll for Christmas. Her name was "Baby Sandra." Matthew rechristened her "Baby Dirt-ra." (He thought "sand" was too gentle, so he replaced that syllable of the baby's name with "dirt.") We all accepted this and moved on as if the name "Dirtra" were the most logical progression from "Sandra." No complaints were raised, no argument put forth. Such was the power Matthew had over us.

I should mention, to my "new blog friends" that Matthew was our uncle who passed away at the tender age of 37 just a few years ago. He was my mother's much younger brother; he was only 10 years older than Lauren. He was very much like an older brother to all of my cousins and me. And he took this role very seriously...particularly the aspect of the role of older brother that requires inflicting torture and abuse. And yet, we all loved him!

Anyway, like all little girls, we often found the need to deface our dolls. Barbie dolls got hideous haircuts. Baby dolls were inked with tattoos of snakes, knives, daggers, and other such symbols, and rag dolls were used as practice for our future as coroners.

Dirtra, however, was a favorite target for some reason. She was pretty cutting edge back in 1980. When you rubbed her back, she giggled and cooed. She had a little hole in her mouth for a baby bottle (the milk would disappear when the bottle was tipped upside down).

Matthew discovered, for some reason that I can't explain to this day, that if he inserted his lit Marlboro into Dirtra's mouth and squeezed her belly, she would become filled with smoke. When he removed the cigarette, he would squeeze the belly again, and a stream of smoke would flow out of her mouth. In fact, since her mouth was rounded, if he just squeezed her in the right way, she would emit a series of perfectly shaped smoke rings. In these instances, she was more reminiscent of Betty Grable than a plastic baby doll.

But the fun didn't stop with turning my poor innocent dolly into a chain smoking louse.

On Christmas day, as per usual, we all convened at my grandparents' place. We used to each bring one favorite Christmas toy. I brought baby Dirtra, which was a departure from the ordinary because I had not even received her for Christmas. I had already had her for some time, but I really liked her.

Anyway, Jules discovered an absolutely massive Sugar Daddy pop that somebody had given to my grandfather. Wise move on behalf of the gift giver, who undoubtedly knew of my grandfather's ill-fitting dentures. Perhpas whoever gave him this gift was just trying to get him to eat the sticky confection and literally glue his mouth shut.

Anyway....

Somehow Jules discovered that if she lifted the 8 pound sugar daddy high over hear head and then made it reign down on Dirtra's butt with blunt force, Dirtra would react with a little giggle and coo, as if she had been gently rubbed and coddled. Well, this was too tempting. We all had to have a go. Even Matthew got in on the action. And yes, he probably WAS pushing 20 at the time.

We were all literallly lined up, having put Dirtra on the stand that usually held my grandfather's plaid beanbag ashtray so as to have perfect aim at her.

Eventually, Uncle Paul walked into the room and was HORRIFIED by the spectacle he saw playing out before him. Within seconds, my mother, Auntie Julie and Auntie Mary were descending upon us in sheer anger and disgust. I think a few of us even suffered Sugar Daddy blows. We all got busted, but I'm pretty sure I had the worst beating of all. After all, the thing was my doll. I probably should have tried to defent it. Instead, I was right in the thick of the action.

All I know is that, somehow, Matthew managed to extract himself from the situation right at the critical moment before Uncle Paul witnessed any of the violence. He had a gift for knowing when to get out of the room right before the real trouble came.

Poor Baby Dirtra.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame.

Below are a few shots of today's MCAS camp field trip to Boston's Fenway Park. With the way the Red Sox are performing these days, this isn't the prized real estate that it usually would be, but the kids had a fantastic guy. The tour guide was hilarious. At least the teachers thought so. Most of his jokes went right over the kids' heads. Just the way we like it!









Anyway, I have to get some errands done. I have about 3 tons of laundry that must get done. I have not had a chance to get any laundry done since my return from Croatia, so I naturally have piles and piles of it to do. I hate going to the laundromat, but if I skip it for another day, I'll be wearing a bathrobe to school tomorrow. And seeing as where it is the last day of camp and parents are coming for a slide show, I should probably not wear bedwear to school.

I also have to go over and take a look at Lauren's Mac. Her computer has been doing some strange things and she isn't sure how to deal with a Mac yet. I suppose it would be like an expert driver who has driven nothing but automatic all his life trying to suddently switch to stick. I know she knows how to use a PC, but the transition to Mac can be a little shakey at first. Of course, like those who drive stick vehicles and claim that the ride is vastly superior, I know that when she "shifts gears" to the Mac way of life, she'll never look back and she'll wonder how she made due with inferior PCs her whole computer using life.

When I first got my Mac, I spent a few hours on the phone trying to figure stuff out. I know, though, that with her two little kids, she just does not have that kind of time. So, I'll be her "Apple guy" and go over and hopefully sort things out.

Steve Jobs, you should just step aside, be-otch! I'm about to unseat you from your Apple throne!

Wicked Game

My friend, Gene, who works for a radio station and is constantly scoring tickets for all kinds of shows, offered Stephen and me a couple of tickets to tonight's Chris Isaak show. Other than the melodic and seductive "Wicked Game" I don't think I even know any Chris Isaak songs. But, since I really do LOVE that song, and since Gene and our other friend Meg were already on board to see the show, Stephen and I decided to get in on the act.

There ended up being an extra ticket, so my friend and colleague, Barbara, joined us, too.

I have to say that the show was EXCELLENT.

Isaak's voice is smooth, sultry and lighthearted all at once. His stage presence was electrifying and he clearly enjoyed every moment of his performance as much as the audience members did. He made several rounds of the audience, stopping to sing directly to fans, or to dance with the ladies. Toward the end of the show, he even invited about 30 women up onto the stage with him while he performed a couple of lively tunes.

The guy was actually really, really funny, too. He was possessed of that really witty, intelligent humor that makes an already handsome man seem absolutely irresistable. All the ladies in the audience felt the magnetism.

I am really glad I went to the show. I sometimes hesitate to go see bands if I'm not familiar with a wide body of their work. But, in this case, I at least know Chris Isaak and really thought it might be a fun night out. The show was at the outdoor Pavilion in Boston. The weather was mild and hey, the summer will be over before we know it. I'd be wishing I had taken advantage of a great outdoor experience like this.

I am tired, and dread having to get up early for school tomorrow, but I am very happy to have gone to the show.

Barbara pointed out that Isaak appears to be morphing into Kurt Russell as he gets older. He did bear an uncanny resemblance to Goldie Hawn's main squeeze as he crooned from the stage, but still, I just tried not to envision him playing Goldie's long lost husband in the box office smash "Overboard" and stayed focused on the singing.

I would strongly recomment checking out Isaak at a nearby venue if you have the chance. Of course, if you can get Gene to score you some free tickets, that would work even more strongly to your advantage.

Oh, the last thing I wanted to point out is that I was surprised by Isaak's bedazzled leisure suit wardrobe. As I said, I know very little about the guy, but I always picture him in that "Wicked Game" video, cozied up to some supermodel on the beach, much like a Calvin Klein perfume commercial. I always had that image and thought he would be sort of a stylish, sleek, Euro-trashy dresser. The suit, (which is the exact one as what you see pictured below) surprised me. The finale outfit was even more shocking. Black sequins. Pure shine, baby!

Unlike Rick Schroeder, Isaak has no half baked shit to shove up his ass.

If Schroeder ranks a 10 out of 10 on the half baked shit scale, I'd have to give Isaak a zero. Isaak was the real deal!

Silver Spoons Indeed

Lauren and I might constantly be writing about stupid stuff on our blogs, but don't let that kid you. We were actually very bright and very articulate children. Sadly, our intelligence has not advanced any into our adulthood. Rather, it peaked at the age of 9, along with our maturity level.

Like all kids, we had our favorite television programs. We, along with millions of American pre-teens, tuned in to "Silver Spoons" week after week. At first, we loved it. Alfonso Ribeiro. Joel Higgins, Erin Grey, Leonard Lightfoot. It is not every day that we get to see such an illustrious assembly of hollywood stars working together on one show.

In case you forget the premise of the show, Rick Schroeder plays an incredibly rich child whose father is inclined to give him anything he wants. Yet, in spite of this extreme wealth, Rick's character remains humble and level headed.

I know you at least remember the train tracks running through the living room of the house.

Anyhow, Lauren and I loved the show at first, but something happened in the later seasons to make us become disillusioned with Ricky Schroeder. I'm not sure what it was, but we surely were not going to sit idly by and let our poor opinions of the Rickster fester. We were going to give voice to our frustrations and annoyances. And what better way than with a letter addressed directly to the Rickster himself?

We holed ourselves up in our attic room, armed with pens, composition paper, envelopes and a few stamps we had stolen from my father's collection.

At this point, we began to author one of the most hateful poison pen letters I had read to date or have since read in the years that have lapsed between now and then. I wish I could quote the letter in its entirety, but too many years have gone by. I can, however, remember the sentence that ultimately ushered in our demise as Hollywood critics. It went, (verbatim):

"Listen, Schroeder, why don't you just take your half baked shit and shove it up your ass."

Keep in mind, folks, I was NINE years old.

Anyway, we wrote the letter, fully intending to mail it. This episode pre-dates the internet. We had to find the address and were not sure how to. But we had the letter tucked safely under my bed (or so we thought) until we were armed with the appropriate mailing information.

However, our plan to mail the letter was foiled when our mother found the letter during one of her infamous cleaning jags.

All I can say is that the confrontation was ugly. We were beaten senseless. We were deprived of many luxuries, like food, water and oxygen for many days. And we were reminded regularly of what a source of sham we were.

As a child, I thought my mother was overreacting. As an adult, I can understand my mother's horror. Her nine year old child, who was tested as reading on a pre-college level in grade 2, had decided to put her verbal gifts to use to write a harassing letter to an aspiring Hollywood heartthrob. She probably had envisioned me as the next poet Laureat of the United States. Instead, I was turning into Siskel and Ebert with a mean streak right before her very eyes.

Naturally Lauren played innocent. For she was even smarter than I. She had realized that if she simply helped dictate the letter and left it in my penmanship, she could avoid the shroud of guilt that would eventually fall about my narrow 9 year old shoulders.

Bitch!

I do not have children of my own, but Jesus, Lauren, Juanita, Laurita..can you imagine if you found such a letter written by one of your cherubs?

Travel Journal

Blogging is a big responsibility.

As is often the case with major episodes in our lives, we want to share at length, but the idea of setting about the task of finding the time to pen a decent recap missive can be daunting.

Such is the case with the trip to Croatia. Sure, I wrote about the engagement. And then I wrote about the nightmare trip home. But I have not even written about the trip itself yet.

I am going, in an effort to keep things as short and sweet as possible, simplify matters by hilighting the 10 best and 10 worst aspects of the trip.

As Charles Dickens once said, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

Let's start with the best of times.

1. The engagement. Yes, I know. I already devoted an entire blog entry to it, but still, it is not to be outshined by any other fabulous moment of the trip.

2. My awesome friend, Lars, from Germany, came all the way from Hamburg, Germany with his friends, Thomas and Katherin, just to hang out with us. "The Gorgeous Lars" as he has long been called by yours truly, is one of the funniest people I know. I have now had the pleasure of meeting him in his homeland, hosting him in mine, and hanging out with him in Croatia! Here we are, pictured below.



3. Ice cold beer, which we consumed in mass quantities on a daily basis. I kid you not when I say that I drank at least one beer every single day. At LEAST.



4. The cool, refreshing waters of the Adriatic Sea. The picture below was taken on the first day of our trip. We were exhausted. We had been up for around 30 hours, but were determined to stay awake until a decent bedtime hour so as to avoid severe jet lag. The waters of the Adriatic were a bit rough this day, and we were sitting on a wall against which the waves were violently crashing and creating a really high spray. Here is Stephen and some French guy, Jose, whose restaurant we later dined at in Dubrovnik, getting a nice refreshing little splash.



5. The rocky beach near our favorite little fish restaurant in Cavtat. Going to the restaurant for a beer or two to take a much-needed break from our strenuous sun bathing.

6. The water taxi from Cavtat to Dubrovnik. The breathtakingly beautiful Dubrovnik harbor as the taxi approaches.



7. Dubrovnik is a walled city built in the Middle Ages. The walls are open to tourists and the walk around them is incredible. On one side, all you can see are the red tiled rooves of Dubrovnik homes. On the other side, the Adriatic stretches out as far as the eye can see. There is a little bar on the walls. You can go down there, have a beer, then jump right off the walls and into the Adriatic. Amazing!

8. Having a major cruiseliner (10 storeys) sail within 50 feet of us as we swam in the waters just off the Dubrovnik walls. We could actually HEAR what individual passangers on the ship were calling to us. The waves created by that thing were enormous! I had taken the picture below from the bar as we drank our beer. By the time we jumped into the water, it was close enough to swim over to!



9 Hot sun. blue skies.

10. Meeting fun people, like the Norweigan guys who joined us on a trip to the beach and then pulled out their iPod, plugged them into speakers and treated the entire beach to a rotation of their favorite 80s pop tunes.

It Was the Worst of Times.

1. The nasty-ass "sponge" bathmat in our bathroom in Cavtat. The thing would appear to be dry, but it was made of this spongey material, so when we'd step on it, it would ring out all over our feet.

2. In keeping with the bathroom theme...the TINY showers typical of Europe. In addition to being tiny, there is nowhere to put your shower stuff. No little shelf. No hanger. Christ, every time I shaved my legs I felt like I was performing in the Cirque du Soleil.

3. Rude tourists. I don't get it. I mean, when I'd hold the door open for people, they would walk right by and not even acknowledge. I mean sure, everybody there is a tourist and very few of them are English speaking. However, if you hold the door open for somebody, and then that person looks at you, smiles pleasantly and says something in a nice tone of voice, aren't you just going to be able to figure out that they were saying thanks in whatever language they speak? Nope. People here took language differences as an excuse to be rude assholes. Un a non-related asshole moment, in Dubrovnik, some French guy was entering a store. He turned, saw me, made eye contact as I reached out to take the door handle. Not only did he not hold the door, he actually FORCED it shut on me.

4. crowds everywhere.

5. Croatia is not as cheap as it was even two years ago.

6. Finding a decent room was somewhat more difficult than it was last time.

7. Three stormy days that we had. What's up with that? Croatia is supposed to have guaranteed hot weather every day!

8. The trip from hell home.

9. The lack of English books in bookstores. I ran out of all my reading material within two days of the trip!

10. The fact that we had to leave!

As you can well see, the far outweighed the good. I recommend Croatia very highly to anybody who wants to visit!!

Images of Croatia

Remember all those depressing pictures we used to see of Eastern Europe in our school textbooks?

Well...times, they're a changing.

Take a look at these...









You can see now why I always laugh when people ask me if I am going to Croatia to do volunteer work.

Back on Terra Firma...Thank CHRIST!!

OK, so I covered the most important aspect of the Croatia trip, which was, of course, the engagement. (By the way, we brought the ring over to Shreve, Crump and Low today and I will have the ring resized in just two weeks!)

Before I go on and chronicle the events of the fabulous trip, I HAVE to share the details of my return trip with you. This story is so F'd up that honestly, if you were telling it to me, I would simply not believe you.

We heard about the London terror plot one morning as we watched BBC World on our blessed satellite TV in the room. We were shocked! There are no direct flights to Dubrovnik from Boston, but there are any number of major cities through which the transatlantic connection can be made. Paris, Milan, Rome, Frankfurt, Amsterdam, Dublin..you get my picture. In the past, Stephen and I have traveled through any number of these cities to get ourselves to and from Europe. However, I've found myself disappointed with the big European carriers in my past trips. (Air France and Al Italia, in particular, are complete CRAP!)
I insisted, therefore, this time, that we travel either on American Airlines, or British Airways. We ended up with the best of both worlds as we booked flights through American Airlines, but the overseas portions of the trip would be operated by British Airways. Awesome.

This, of course, meant connections through the UK.

Naturally, when we saw the news of the terror plot, we were pretty horrified.

We called American Airlines to see if we could reroute our return through another major transatlantic connection. No go. Cheaptickets.com, through whom we had purchased or tickets and INSURANCE, refused to help us, telling us, "We can't seem to find your reservations." This even as I was looking at my reservations on the "my trips" section of their website.

So anyway, we resigned ourselves to travel through London. Every day we saw reports of massive security check lines. We understood that we might not even be able to take carry on luggage. We knew there would be no liquids, gels, cosmetics, etc. We knew that we stood a very good chance of having flight cancellations to suffer, interminable waits in lines, missed connection flights because of said waits, etc. We were prepared.

When we got to Dubrovnik Airport, we were shocked when they said they could check our luggage all the way through to Boston. On the way over, they had checked it to Manchester, but then made us pick it up to take it through security. Surely, we thought, they would make us pick up the bags in Manchester again (our flight pattern was Dubrovnik, Manchester, London, Boston) to thoroughly check it through England.

Score one for us.

We arrive at Manchester, expecting massive security measurs to be in place.

Nothing.

Some guy asked us to fill out a "landing card" which essentially asked our names, where we were flying to, and for a signature. He took a picture of us and then asked us whether we had any gel, liquids or cosmetics in our bags. We said no and this was good enough for him.

We proceeded to our gate without another ounce of security to deal with.

We braced ourselves for the worst in London. Like you here, we had seen the photos. We had seen the lines. We had heard that American-bound passangers would go through at least 2 check lines, each of which would last at least 90 minutes. We were prepared to sack out for the night in the airport as we only had a 90 minute layover.

We arrive at Heathro, deplane, and begin making our way to our terminal. With each corner we turned, we were expecting to encounter the endless security lines.

Nothing.

We walked right to our gate, where some elderly Indian woman patted me down (I'm not even sure if she was an airport employee, come to think of it), and asked me to remove my shoes, which she then very officially rubbed with a cotton ball that the promptly threw away.

That was the extent of the security. Oh yeah, and they unzipped my bag, all the while looking straight at me and asking me if I had liquid or gel. When I said no, they zipped my bag back up (never having looked inside) and told me to go sit and wait.

As you can see, the whole process was very exhaustive.

Anyway, it is best if I just give you the time chronicle of events from this point forward.

6:05 PM (England, 1:00 PM Boston) -- flight is scheduled to take off.

6:15 PM England (1:15 PM Boston) --They BEGIN boarding the aircraft.

6:30 PM UK (1:30 Boston) --surprisingly the seating of the passangers is complete. I think this is because you didn't have people carrying in entire sets of luggage as "carry-ons."

6:30-7:20 PM UK (1:30- 2:20 PM Boston) --Aircraft sits idle on the runway with no clarification from the captain as to the reason for the delay.

7:20 PM UK (2:20 PM Boston) -- We begin to taxi down the runway, but are told that we are 46th in line to get take off clearance.

8:00 PM UK (3:00 PM Boston) -- We take off. (We had been told that our flight would arrive in Boston ten minutes ahead of schedule, but we are now already nearly 2 hours behind schedule!)

10:00 PM UK (5:00 Boston) - - I am at the back of the plane, waiting to use the can, when I see a few stewardesses going over to a passanger who was ill. She looked to be around 13. One of the stewardesses came to the back and I asked her what was wrong with the kid. She said that kid had been in the airport for nearly 11 hours (cancelled flight) and had eaten only one slice of pizza. She then took several diet pills containing ephedra and was now sick. Gee, ya think!!!!

11:00 PM UK (5:00 PM Boston) -- We have, if all goes well, 3.5 hours left to fly) The pilot asks if a certified medical professional on board would be willing to step forward and help an ill patient. An elderly woman makes her way to the first class section (where they have now moved this girl and her entire family) to lend a hand.

1:00 AM UK (8:00 PM Boston)--The flight monitor tells us that we have just under 90 minutes until we land in Boston. We are practically doing a dance of joy. The pilot interrupts our celebration by announcing that we have to make an emergency medical landing in Halifax Nova Scotia, Canada, which is a stone's throw from Boston.

1:30 AM UK (8:30 Boston time) we land in Halifax and sit there for nearly FIVE HOURS while the following events take place.

1. The paramedics spend an extended amount of time on board treating the diet pill girl before taking her off the aircraft.

2. The pilot announces that the family's bags will need to be removed from the cargo hold as it is illegal to knowingly travel with bags known not to belong to anybody presently on board. Also, in light of security issues, it was best to remove it. This alone took nearly 2 hours. The pilot announced, eventually, after the first 90 minutes of searching, that London would be contacted to tell them exactly which bin the luggage had been placed into. After an additional half hour, the bags were found and removed. TWO HOURS!!!

3. The plane was, very slowly indeed, refueled.

4. The pilot announced that the vehicle which came out to refuel the plane (picture someting high, like a cherry picker) and faulty brakes and that the driver lost control of the vehicle, causing it to crash into the plane wing and damage the thing!

5. Canadian immigration authorities announce that they do not want us in the airport terminal and will not accept us. We were therefore stuck in the plane.

6. The pilot tells us that we will have a plane come specially from NY to Nova Scotia to pick us up and take us to Boston. The caveat is that it will be another 5 hours before the plane arrives.

I swear to God, if it weren't for people getting arrested and crap for losing their minds on planes, I think there would have been a mutiny.

7. Mercifully, that plan was not put into effect because some repair crew from Air Canada came over and fixed the wing and sent us on our way.

Jesus, I was ready to stick my arms out the window and start flapping at that point.

I don't know what the Uk Boston times were at that point. All I know is that we were meant to land in Boston at 8:30 PM Boston time and we didn't arrive in Boston until 1: 30 AM. So, our 6 hour flight turned into a 13 hour hellish ordeal!

Naturally, my bags were among the very last to emerge at the baggage claim and we had to wait almost a half hour to get a cab home.

But we didn't care.

We were out of that godforsaken plane!!!

Croatia..A very Engaging vacation!

On the thrid day of our trip, August 6, Stephen proposed to me on the quaint and romantic island of Korcula, pictured below.



We had gone to dinner and were sitting down in a cute little outdoor bar on the midieval walls overlooking the Adriatic Sea having a beer (of course, anybody who knows me and Stephen will hardly be shocked to see that beer factors into the equation) when Stephen reached across the table to take my hand. When my hand met his, he placed something round, metal and quite heavy into my hand. Before I even looked, I knew it was a ring. I asked, "Is this what I think it is?" Stephen confirmed my engagement ring suspicion and asked me, "Will you marry me?"

Of course the answer was YES!

My ring, incidentally, is fantastic! The band is platinum with alternating diamonds and sapphires. I told Stephen once that although I tend not to be a big jewelry person, I do LOVE sapphires. He chose the ring all on his own and it is perfect. I would have chosen exactly the same one if I had been there with him.

This is obviously a very exciting development!

Our next project is to go get the ring sized. It is currently a size 6, which is apparently "standard" ring size. But since I have hands that would make an NBA player jealous, it has to be sized out to a 7.5 or 8.

There are no dates in the works as of yet. We will probably plan to marry within the year. I'll keep you posted on any further developments.

The picture below was taken just moments after the engagement was made official!

Croatia....Here I Come!

There are only two things standing between me and Croatia right now:

1. My last day of summer school.
2. 17 hours of travel. (Including layovers)

At 5:00 tomorrow mornings (Boston time), I will be arriving in Croatia. It will be 11:00 in the morning there. I will be exhausted. I will feel gross after many, many hours in airplanes and airports. I will want to sleep, I'm sure, as I NEVER manage to sleep on planes. But I also know that the minute I step out of that airport in Dubrovnik, I will be eager to get myself to the hotel, showered, deloused and changed and then right out the door to the first outdoor bar where I will drink my first of many, many Croatian beers. And of course, my first dip in the Adriatic Sea will not be far behind my first sip of beer. And I'm sure there will be a lovely meal of grilled fish (that I will have seen the guy catch three seconds before) on the cards, too.

I spent many hours last night packing and repacking my bag. I was determined to bring my backpack and a small carry on and nothing else. I am going to try to avoid checking luggage. With flights going through New York, Manchester and eventually Dubrovnik, the potential for the luggage to become lost is too great. I know, I know, the airlines are usually good about getting stuff to you right away, but we'll be moving around a bit in the first few days of our trip. And when I think of having to wear the same clothing that I had on the plane for all those hours for several days, I get pretty skeeved out. Plus, I heard that British Airways were actually "handling" our flight, even though it is indicated as an American Airlines flight. Either way, I figure we'll be happy. I actually really like British Airways, but there is one slight problem...I have never traveled with British Airways that they have NOT lost my luggage. Why let that little tradition carry on?

Anyway, guys, I will try to check in on my blog and yours while away. There are certainaly plenty of intenet cafes. But I'm surely not going to be able to post photos until I get back . And believe me, there will be plenty of photos!

I hope you all keep well and stay cool in this heat!

Peace out!

I'm Melting...I'm Melting....

Boston, like most of the nation, is in the throes of a pretty major heat wave. I know, I know, the west coast has been baking for two straight weeks now, but still....we New Englanders are just not accustomed to this kind of heat.

I LOVE the Summer. I LIVE for the heat. All winter long I bitch and moan about the cold and pine for the summer.

It pains me, therefore, to admit that even I, the biggest fan of summertime heat, was a bit uncomfortable at times yesterday.

Come to think of it, I don't think I spent more than 20 minutes in the AC yesterday.

My school doesn't have AC. The windows also don't open and there was a dead mouse in the doorway when I walked into the classrooom, but those are just little asides.

After school, I had to walk to Davis Square. Actually, I could have taken the bus, but I just started walking. From Davis, I walked to Harvard Square to take care of a few last minute errands. I waited in Harvard Square for the bus, but it just never came, so I had to walk home. I was dreading the very evil ascent up the street to my place. It was pretty dreadful. It took me about 20 minutes of just sitting in my apartment to stop sweating profusely. Granted, I continued to sweat, but less profusely than when I scaled the K2-like ascent to my apartment.

I could not let myself sit too long, however, as I had some laundry to do. And you guessed it...laundry requires a trip back to the bottom of the hill and the requisite climb back up. Oh, and of course the laundromat has no AC.

I'm usually the first one to complain about the fact that we are so cold all winter and I fail to see the logic in immediately freezing everybody out with the AC as soon as the summer rolls around, but I was so desperate for a little AC yesterday that I actually walked to Target to go in and cool off. The thing that struck me when I was walking across the parking lot to go into Target was the fact that the pavement was actually giving a little under my feet. I think there was some slight melting going on. Amazing.

Anyway, when I got into Target, I was going to buy a second memory card for my digital camera, but the AC must have kicked in just in time to release me from my heat induced insanity. Why would I spend 50 dollars on an electronic product at Target after what they put me through when I tried to return a clearly mismarked Dora the Explorer computer game. In case you missed that entry, they asked me in all seriousness if I would be willing to return my Mac and get a PC so that I could play the game that was marked MAC on the outside box and PC on the products inside.

When Stephen gave me the camera for my birthday last year, he bought the wrong memory card at Best Buy. Not only had I opened it and lost the packaging, but we were about 6 months past the 30 day return limitation. The guy at the customer service counter at Best Buy was like, "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Take whatever memory card you need." When I asked the guy if I had to come back through customer service with the new card, he said, "No, its cool. Don't worry about it."

Needless to say, I'll go to Best Buy today.

Some Target manager working the electronic section of the store came over to ask me if I need help. I made sure to tell him about my decision to buy the thing at Best Buy and then I took off.

Anyway, back to the heat thing....see, my mind is truly clouded over.

I went back to the laundromat, picked up my stuff and climbed the Everest that is my street.

I took a cool shower and then went out with some friends for a couple of beers.

I'm not sure if that was such a great idea. I'm not hung over or anything, but in weather like this and after all my walking around in the extreme heat, I should probably be drinking water exclusively.

My father offered to let me stay at his place in the AC last night, but I wasn't sure what time I'd be back from my evening with my friends, and to be honest, I dreaded having to walk back up my street this morning in the heat on my way to work! I'm so lazy.

I went to bed at 11 after watching Law and Order. I have been wide awake in the heat since 3:00. I did finally get up at 4:30.

I'm gonna go find a movie to show my classes today. There is no chance for productivity today.

Circle of Life

Although I have a deep respect and appreciation of the animal kingdom's circle of ilfe, I really do wish that it would not play itself out nightly on my back stairway.

Yesterday, when I opened my door to leave my apartment and go to school, I saw the greusome and very macabre sight of a squirril carcass lying righ there on my stairway landing. It was disgusting. This was not just a dead squirril, ladies and gentlemen, but a skinned, and defleshed muscular structure of a squirril whose innards were lying several feet away from the body to which they once belonged.

Gross.

I was late for work and didn't have time to think about calling animal control or whatever, so I took my snow shovel and pushed the carcass off the stairs and into the many bushes and shrubs below, reasoning that some other predatory animal would eat the remains.

I then took to my kitchen, where I boiled a huge pot of water, threw in tons of soap and proceeded to hurl the sudsy concoction onto the stairway where the carcass had been.

I immediately cleansed my hands and sprayed Lysol disinfectant onto the shoes that I had worn to do the gross work of discarding the carcass.

Today, when I opened my door to leave my apartment, I was greeted by the skinned and defleshed body of a bird.

Gross.

It was on the landing of the stairway.

Again, I had to get the shovel and throw boiling water and soap onto the area.

I did alert my landlord to the problem, and he is going to call animal control.

In the meanwhile, he has sprayed cayenne pepper spray onto the stair in order to deter the animals from coming over in the first place. I have, once again, watered and soaped the stairs and have even mopped them down. Needless to say, that mop will be making its way into the trash collection this week.

And my shoes are continually being sprayed and deloused with Lysol products.

How nasty!