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Stage an Intervention

I like to make lists. Last night, during one of my many pithy discussions with Deeps (Him: What's for dinner? Are you going to empty the dishwasher? - Me: Uhm. Internet? No - I'm never going to empty the freakin' dishwasher.) we talked about things that make us feel older. You know, the behaviors and mannerisms of your parents that you have mercilessly mocked over the years. And now you realize you're starting to embody?

Below is a list of things that aren't necessarily inspired by any one person I know - it's just stuff I worry about. If you notice me demonstrating any of this behavior - please stage an intervention.

1. Waddling for a prolonged period of time.
2. Carrying around a personal fan and "cooling" myself on bus, train, car or sidewalk.
3. Carrying salad dressing in my purse to use in restaurants.
4. Really short hair that has been permed within an inch of its life.
5. Shopping on a regular basis at places like "The Walking Store" or "The Walking Spirit."

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By: Alyssa | Tuesday, September 30, 2003 at Tuesday, September 30, 2003 | |  

PHOTO GALLERY!
Hey, I built this damn gallery and I added the wrong link. So here's the correct link to Alyssa Boehm's personal photo gallery - photos courtesy of my sketchy digital camera! It's purty. I added some new stuff from recent trips around the New England area.

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By: Alyssa | Wednesday, September 24, 2003 at Wednesday, September 24, 2003 | |  

New gang in town
The Jean jackets are out in force. They're everywhere.

The working woman's uniform is updated to reflect the slight change in temperature. We still wear our smart tailored pants that hit the middle of the shoe (as we've been instructed on "What Not to Wear" - both BBC and TLC versions).

We trot around the natty streets of Boston in our New Balance sneakers while carrying our stylish, pointy toed shoes and boots in our trusty soft-sided messenger bags (Thanks "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" - that tip works for the ladies as well as the men). And now we're wearing our cute, tailored jean jackets which add a different fun texture and bit of whimsy to our look.

Yes, the Jean jackets are out.

The cautionary tale of Weiner Dogs on Huron Avenue
I used to be a pet person. I loved all the critters (except reptiles) and enjoyed visiting people who had dogs or cats. We'd play, we'd pet, it was good fun.

But, now I'm finding that other people's pets are more like other people's children. Not in the way you think. I find their pets have are poorly behaved and a little dangerous.

Just this weekend I was nearly attacked by a pair of vicious Dachshunds. Now they seem cute - they are. Who doesn't love a Weiner dog? I even thought that as the dogs approached me (with their owners in tow, on a leashes) on the sidewalk. Then they let loose with really loud barking and the pair of young Weiner dogs lunged and snapped at me.

This would have been my third Weiner attack had they been successful. I've actually been bitten by Dachshunds in the past. I still think they're cute but I find when I'm walking down the street and a dog is approaching (not necessarily a Doxie - with owner in tow, on a leash) I'm inclined to cross the street away from the dog. It's sad.

Michigan is for Lovers and France is for the French
I'm going to France in a few weeks, Paris to be exact. I've been to Paris before. But then I was a young'un with no cash and no sense. I think this time might be different.

I've picked up a few guide books and been reading through my "Rick Steve's" purchases. I enjoy the following excerpt about the notion that the French are unfriendly people:

"You've no doubt heard that Parisians are 'mean and cold and refuse to speak English.' This is an out-of-date preconception left over from the de Gaulle days. Parisians are as friendly as any other people....
(cont'd several paragraphs later)
..."Polite and formal, the French respect the fine points of culture and tradition. In France, strolling down the street wearing a big grin on your face and saying hello to strangers is a sign of senility, not friendliness (seriously)."
-Rick Steve's Paris, 2003; pgs. 6-7

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By: Alyssa | Monday, September 22, 2003 at Monday, September 22, 2003 | |  

We're going to Paris
It's the city of lights. I seem to recall it being so. I also recall it's the city where I slept upright, against our hotel room door because some weird guy followed us back to our hotel and lurked around. And the door to our exceptionally cheap and crappy hotel room did not lock properly. We were 18 and didn't know any better.

I was armed with only my American ingenuity and an umbrella.

I think this time will be different. If a menacing man follows me back to my hotel room there's a good chance said man is my husband. He's not really menacing, he's just figuring the exchange rates in his head.

So - if you've been to Paris lately, please feel free to send along your favorite places to visit. And if you have guide book suggestions I'm looking for a few recommendations before making further purchases.

I'm also bringing a bigger umbrella.

While you're at it - go find Don!
I'm a huge fan of the Tomato Nation site which is really all kinds of fabulous. Sars is looking for her 9/11 disaster buddy who helped her out when the WTC was destroyed. Don is the man's name and you can read more about him and how he helped Sarah.

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By: Alyssa | Wednesday, September 17, 2003 at Wednesday, September 17, 2003 | |  

It's pull out your Fall boots day!
I'm trying very hard to embrace Fall. I've cracked out the new boots. My boots from last year died a noble death after the 17 months of winter we had starting last September. Damn my feet hurt - but it's mighty new boot day!



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By: Alyssa | Tuesday, September 16, 2003 at Tuesday, September 16, 2003 | |  

It's not the State Fair - it's the Big E
Really. You can take the girl off the farm, but you can't take the farm off the girl (or something like that).

Yesterday we hit the Big E with full force and today I have state fair hangover. Too much fried food, too much horse manure and too much venison jerky. I do not regret a single moment. I

That's not totally true. I do regret the decision to eat that hamburger before we left.

That's the way of the carnie - you pays your moneys and yous takes your chances.

Come one! Come all!
Seee the newly updated Photo Gallery! You can look at pictures of stuff I've taken. The latest additions are at the bottom - see smoggy Boston, old rusty bridges and smiling babies!




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By: Alyssa | Sunday, September 14, 2003 at Sunday, September 14, 2003 | |  

September 11
I get claustrophobic on the T and jumping off a few stops early and walking in is a good way to ease my way into work.

I was just walking along – cutting through the common and then over to the public garden. I do it every day. I don’t really think about it much. I just do it, chugging along listening to music and mentally escaping a few minutes before the work day.

Yesterday was different. I hadn’t really forgotten the day. I’d seen the news earlier, watched the terrible images again. I was in Chicago when it happened. It’s different now in Boston – it’s closer.

A father and his small daughter stood next to me as we waited to cross Charles St. She was dressed up in a pretty pink dress, kicking her legs in her stroller. He stood next to me, somber – dressed in a suit. Another man joined him – they talked quietly.

As I heard them talking – I realized who the men were. They were survivors, mourners. They were members of a family left behind.

I didn’t know anyone who died on Sept. 11. I was in Chicago. My social circle was not untouched by the tragedy, but I personally did not know anyone. I guess I didn’t realize until this morning that in a lot of ways I always viewed the events as being very removed from me. I didn’t realize that I held them at arms’ length until this morning – standing next to this man and his daughter as they walked to the public garden where they would join others, mourning for their loved ones.

I looked away, quickly – I didn’t want to be eavesdropping. I trailed behind them as they made their way to the corner of the park where a dais had been erected. I realized I wasn’t alone. There were lots of bystanders, watching what was happening – drawn to the mourners, but unsure what to do. Should we say something, do something, show that we’re sorry? In the end, we did nothing. We headed off to work or the gym or school. We left them alone with their grief.

I hope that they know they are not alone in grieving.

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By: Alyssa | Friday, September 12, 2003 at Friday, September 12, 2003 | |