Category Archives: boston blog

Happy Valentine’s Day!!


Hope everyone has a splendid love-filled day!


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Would you go wiiiith me???

Welcome to the second installment of Throw-Back Song Fridays! Below is the 90s gem that plays in my head every morning when my alarm goes off.

Please listen to it. It’s amazing.

Listening to 5ive always reminds me of my friend Kate, because my friend Kate, like me, loves really really horrible music. Back in high school, where we met, all of our friends pretty much listened to the same, weird, shit—stuff like Dispatch and Led Zeppelin and uh, Phish.  I could stomach some of it, but a fourteen-year-old girl can only take so much noodling before she wants to put on some SheDAISY and lip-synch in front of the mirror. Thank God for Kate. Kate always came through for me. I could go into her bedroom at anytime of the night (we went to boarding school), turn off the lights on her while she was sitting on her bed in a trucker hat eating Fritos and strumming a ukulele, put “Oops!..I Did It Again” in her CD player, and before I knew it, private dance party. (We also did emo quite well; a pair of young women screaming “don’t you know you betta run, run, run, run, RUN!”  in the bathroom together has never sounded so beautiful.)

Kate lives in Los Angeles now. She is also the loudest person I know. I bring this up because sometimes I wonder if I could hear her telling a story from LA if I stuck my head out the window and tried hard enough. For real. I used to call her “The Chip” in high school because I thought she had a microphone lodged in her trachea when I first met her. But Kate is much more than just a loud voice—she knows how to work a room, too. She has weird, witch-like movie-star charm. Even if you are the only person in that room with her, and you’re just sitting on a couch watching Don’t Mess with The Zohan and eating Ritz crackers, Kate will work the shit of you.  Or at least herself, because she is also one of those people who laughs a lot at her own stories, and not like, a series of a amused little giggles at herself, but full-on belly-laughing at what she’s saying, slap the table, eyes-watering—she never ceases to find herself and her life incredibly amusing. Kate has a million friends and all of them, like me, think we’re DEFINITELY in the top two or three of her inner circle. There are legitimately forty-seven people out there who think this. Parties she throws often end in snap-offs.

After college, before Kate moved West and I moved…to Boston, Kate taught me how to drive. On a rainy December night in 2008, I took my driver’s test in Bruce, her recently departed Ford Focus that was always filled with random things like neon-green pipe cleaners and empty cans of seltzer and mix CDs of country music and trance disco and the odd tennis shoe. (Kate hearts clutter.) During the test, the cop actually had to turn around and yell at her for trying to mouth me the answers to his questions from the backseat. If I hadn’t already mentioned it, Kate is unfailingly loyal. There are very few friends who would give up their time to try to help someone like me learn how to do a three-point-turn in a high school parking lot at the age of twenty-three, but there she was, texting furiously and laughing the whole time, while unironically proclaiming that should have been running her own ad agency at this point. We spent many hours in that high school parking lot that winter, drinking cinnamon lattes and trying to avoid having me kill the track team. At the time, I was very much like “uh, what is HAPPENING in my life, this is like Garden State but not sexy” but of course I now miss it.

So…I miss you Kate, lover of life and music good and bad, who introduced me to this song and the glory of the “Jenny From The Block” station on Pandora, and who has never met a night out you didn’t dominate.

Happy Friday! The end.


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I want to bathe with you in the sea.

Tonight when I was shopping at the supermarket (grocery store? do other people say supermarket?), and there were like fifty million other people there buying their chicken and slices of cheese and over-priced cereal and I was a bit like “uh, I have a head cold why is EVERYONE and their grandmother buying food right now” and hurling tomatoes and corn chips into my basket. Ten minutes later I passed a woman in the yogurt section squawking into her cell phone, “of course, the whole universe happens to be at the store at the same time as me” and I was like, can that woman hear herself? She sounds ridiculous!

And then this song came on the loudspeakers while I was checking out. I’m pretty sure it was a sign from Myra Kraft that she loves me.

(Don’t tell me you hate this song. Everyone secretly loves this song.)

And yet…I really hope my cool British neighbors didn’t just hear me listening to it again. Twice.

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Resolutions for 2012

1) Eat more pudding.

(I had some pudding on January 1st, by accident. Very pleased to have rediscovered that pudding is SO GOOD.)

2) Watch more TV. (I don’t really watch TV, and it makes me feel boring at lunch. I’ve heard the show below is good though?)

3) Call my grandparents once a week, casually run into Tom Brady and Gisele while buying a bag of spinach, run away to Mexico with Tina Fey for the weekend and….

BLOG MORE!! Hooray!!!!

Hope everyone had a wonderful New Years, and is looking forward to a great 2012, filled with endless news about our hard-working politicians ripping each other to shreds!!!



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Maggie hearts cows.

If I could rub a genie’s lamp three times and magically turn into another woman, it would be Maggie Gyllenhaall, and if I could throw a magic penny into a fountain at sunset in Italy and magically transform into an iconic advertising campaign it would be the Got Milk? one—don’t tell me you’ve never thought about this either—so…basically this image below is causing me to go bananas.

(And berets. And leopard print. And bananas!)

Happy Friday.


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Green shoes on a rainy day.

And a green umbrella too.
(This woman was amazing.)
I hope I look like her when I’m fifty.


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Well, this is no good.

This is what blowing a lead looks like, when you really can’t afford to be blowing leads. Last night in the 8th inning. Yikes.

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How is this commercial ten years old?

This is a great ad. UBER intense, and I like it. Also, I just got back from the UK and I’m pretty sure the whole over-taking trailer by rocky shore and yelling at watch whilst late is a very British thing to do. I guess these Americans are getting married on the English coast or something, so it all makes sense—very deep, very ominous, very techno-religious-music Godfathery sense.

Does this ad make you want to buy a Jetta? I vote yes. Ten years old, and it’s working for me. GOOD STUFF.

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These are sure purrrty.

After noticing two holes in an ancient, pill-covered cardigan of mine this morning, I knew that a visit to (and Garance…grr…) was necessary. (Anna Wintour don’t have no holes in her cardigans!) Soon I was stumbling across a fabulous-people fabulous-party photo album from a Miu Miu Fall 2011 party in L.A. and swooning over the amazing clothes like a goose in heat. Sure, these aren’t outfits for gliding off the T at Haymarket in August, but if I ever win the lottery and am packing for a trip back to the 1940s, I would most definitely bring these two looks.

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Lovely Sunday

I had brunch over the weekend in Inman Square. I’ve never been there before. I’m lame. But that’s about to change! I totally loved the faded, funky looking buildings and basic nineties-ness of the area— very straight out of Reality Bites (and this song.)

Anyhoo, I was in this foreign land to grab brunch with some now-old friends, who I met two years ago when I got to be in this great show at Improv Boston called Atreus, Inc. My friend Matt, who wrote and directed that show, was back in town visiting from New York City, so we had a little reunion. (Matt’s now getting his Masters at NYU in being wicked smat. (Literature.)) My other friends, Ben and Michelle and Jess, who were also in the show and are fantabulous IB regulars, came too. (Ben and Michelle are like Brad and Angelina, cause they met and fell in lurve during the production of Atreus, though Michelle has yet to bear and adopt nineteen children.) Back in the day when Improv Boston used to be in Inman Square, Matt and Michelle and their dark and mysterious improv cronies used to frequent the East Coast Grill a lot, which is where we went for brunch. Again, I’m very slow on the Boston-uptake, because how did I not know about this place? Do you know about this place? It’s (in french accent) incredible!

Michelle and Ben are pretty much VIPs at the restaurant, so they were experts at helping the table order, and also kept creepily winking at all the waiters for “ketchup” the whole time. (Hmm…) We had smoked pork-stuffed bananas to start (always the first thing I’m craving in the morning, uh…but super spicy and delish), followed by queso so fresh and good it’s basically indescribable, and you probably should have had some five minutes ago. My only experience with queso prior to ECG had been that flourescent yellow-orange sludge Tostito’s makes (hey, it gets the job done at 2 a.m., am I right?) so I was pretty much shoveling the warm cheese and home-made chips into my mouth like a Chilean mining disaster survivor. Blah, blah, everything on their menu looks amazing, tastes better, my french toast was orange-y and special, and the drinks were grand too—imagine, sangria that actually tastes like red wine and fruit mixed together and not forty-seven packets of Equal!! Add in nice service, decent prices, and some sort of make your own bloody mary station situation that I didn’t get to and I’ll be going back very, very soon, probably followed by checking out the ice cream place next door.

The only real scary point of the meal happened when Matt started talking about his Joyce class at NYU and reading Ulysses and then he was throwing down words like “epistemology” and then something something about a “cacophony of sounds,” and then a cities’ “collected consciousness through the history of intergalactic moments” and I was full off that spicy banana pork situation and staring at my sangria glass like, “um, would now be a good time to tell him that when I go two days without looking at it’s a personal victory?” Also, I’d like to go back and read hard books in college again and have guidance because now it seems like it would be a lot more fun.

But I love how smart Matt is. His passion was genuine and inspiring and un-Twitter-esque and it’s that kind of stuff that allowed him to write an awesome and fun play that made me meet all these wonderful people. I hope he does it again and again.

(Half of Matt’s head, duck tacos, and the glowing ghost of Joyce seen below.)

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