Category Archives: boston sports

That is BOGUS!!!

I don’t think of myself as a particularly Zen person. My jaw is usually tense, I talk to myself on public transportation, and most of my experiences with social media cause more harm then good. (I live in fear of the day when Zuckerberg goes rogue and lets everyone see who has looked at their Facebook profile in the past year. On that day I will be permanently re-locating to a sewer in Nicaragua.) But despite these facts, I occasionally find myself experiencing bliss. And since bliss is pretty awesome and glow-ey, I will now let you in on my secret: I eat a lot of pickles, and I watch Tommy Heinsohn call Celtics games.

Let’s start with pickles. I love pickles so much. I always forget how much I love them until I have them in my house, as I do right now. They are truly the fridge equivalent of a joyful dog greeting you at the door when you come home—so salty and tasty and crunchy and wet! They make a sandwich so good and crisp I could cry!  Plus, pickles are very low in calories. I just discovered this. Like, tonight. And I would love pickles regardless, but the fact that you could eat an entire jar in one sitting and not have to feel all “uhhh-Blake-Lively-would-nevvvver-do-that-why-am-I-watching-NewGirl-in-a-velour-bathrobe-from-2002-with-a-jar-of-pickles-in-my-lap” makes them somehow even more amazing.

Bring this photo to the MoMa!!

Then there’s Tommy Heinsohn. Tommy Heinsohn is a New England treasure. If he is not a part of your life, he should be.

He’s loud, he’s seventy-eight (photos above ain’t recent, but to fabulous to not show), and he’s a true BALLER in every sense of the word. (Eight NBA titles: check. Oil paints for a hobby: check.) In my mind, the sound of his voice and the force of his love for the hometeam are the epitome of whatever a juice fast or the word OM is supposed to do.  I’m convinced the clip below could possibly knock-out the entire anti-depressant market in one fell swoop if doctors prescribed hourly listening. If ever in need of a pick-me-up after a horrific ride on the Green Line during rush hour, I suggest two Clausen’s pickles and the video below on repeat.



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Happy Valentine’s Day!!


Hope everyone has a splendid love-filled day!

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And it opened up my eyes

I was in my room the other night re-arranging my match collection when I heard something really beautiful: a woman was walking down my street, possibly drunk and loudly singing “The Sign.” It was an amazing experience. Like “Truly, Madly, Deeply” and Robyn’s “Show Me Love,” “The Sign”  is a song that deserves our attention and adoration, and should be played loudly at 7am on a Friday morning while one rubs ice cubes on one’s eyelids and fake contemplates ironing their shirt. (I am also excited to announce my new blog feature, of which this is the first installment: throw-back song Fridays, or just, really amazing song Fridays!)

Like most people born in the mid-1980s, Ace of Base changed my life for the better. And I must give a shout-out to my stepmother, who took me to the Dartmouth Mall in fourth grade and in the same glorious afternoon bought me both a pair of suede navy blue Puma’s at Foot Locker and the Ace of Base CD from Strawberries Music. (Did we also go to the food court for Taco Bell? That might have been too much joy.) I can’t recall what I had for lunch on Wednesday, but I so remember walking on that dirty mall floor, staring at my new kicks as I clutched my plastic-wrapped CD and thought, “So this is what it means to be cool—Pumas and an Ace of Base CD. Life, I’ve made it!”

Of course, it’s all been downhill since that moment, but the beautiful spirit of youtube never fails to amaze me:

A few thoughts after viewing:

1. How does this video only have 67,000 views? I am ashamed of our country.

2. When are extra-large pleather vests going to come back in style for women?

3. So much making out in the 90s! I am sheepish!

4. (Wait, these lyrics are actually really deep….)

omg what should the song be next Friday…? TRL me!
I’m praying for Tommy Gisele!!!



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Talking Newt’s Surprise Win at the Manicure Place.

Things the woman sitting next to me at the nail salon said to her friend today, while flipping through US Weekly.
100% true.

-Do you still watch Gossip Girl?
-But you watch New Girl, right? Oh my God, so funny.
-Wait, do you watch 2 Broke Girls? It’s sooo funny.
-Uh, oh my God, I love Blake Shelton.
-He is—he’s a fav.
-Wait, Drew Barrymore is engaged? Are you kidding!?
-Who even is this guy?
-I didn’t even know she had a BOY-friend!
-Will..Kopelmahn? Will…Kaaahpelmen?
-Whoa, Bradley Cooper and Zoe Saldena are dating.
-That’s weird.
-That’s super weird.
-She looks great in everything though.
-That doesn’t even look anything like Reese Witherspoon in this picture.
-Does that look like Reese Witherspoon to you?
-No, right?
-She looks weird.
-It was so sad when she and Ryan Phillipe broke up.
-I was, like, so sad.
-No, you’re right, her new guy is really great.
-Oooh, Curtis Stone had his baby!!!!
-Hudson! What a cute name. So cute.
-Yeah, with that girl from 90210.
-Um, she was on Lipstick Jungle?
-Wait you never saw Lipstick Jungle!!!! Such a good show.

And so on and so forth.
And the kicker: she was wearing a GIANTS jersey. Meh.

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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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Come onnnn Tom!

Throughout my childhood, my mother always said to me, “Caroline, if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say it all.” By age five, I knew she was completely full of it. Giant people were always saying rude things to each other, in order to either a) get the other person to laugh or b) throw the dishtowel on the floor and stomp around the kitchen. (Also, did she want me to end up a mute?) Still, the woman’s words somehow had an effect on me; I try, for the most part, to bite my tongue when I have a not nice thing to say. But you can’t always hold it in, can you? Case in point: Tom Brady’s new UGG commercial. As a New England fan, I am deeply troubled. It’s caused me a lot of dry-heaving this past week, and I don’t have very nice things to say about it.

I just don’t understand why it had to happen in the first place. (I mean, why Tom? Why???) What in the hell was Brady thinking when he decided to make that ad? That he wanted to send every JETS fan out there into a gleeful frenzy upon viewing? That actually, on second thought, he loves the Giants? I’m just not sure what could have possibly made Brady look at that commerical’s concept beforehand and think to himself, “Oh yeah, speed walking around with feet that clearly aren’t mine and then sitting down for a head-bopping Zoolander stare-off into the camera—now that’s good national television!” I mean, WHO EVEN DIRECTED THIS THING?? Gisele stop doing so much yoga!!!

And okay, I’m clearly pretty shallow, considering I care enough about a shoe ad to sit down and actually write about it, but the truth is I just see so much potential for Tom when it comes to advertising. Or at least I see the potential for so much more then he’s given us—which is essentially a bunch of ads that amount to nothing but a constant reminder of the fact that he’s the greatest-looking human who ever lived. (I mean, we all get it Tom. You’re HOT. But just because every man, woman, and child alive wants to take a bubble bath in your cleft chin doesn’t mean it should to be the center-piece of your ad campaigns. Stetson? Meh!) Is it so wrong to want something simple out of him for once—like Drew Brees’ NyQuil ad? Or maybe even something a little playful and charming, like Manning’s MasterCard spots? You know, just, like, some stereotypical advertising that a Hall of Fame football player would do? Am I totally dissillusioanl here?

I can hear the responses already. Oh, you silly goose. Brady’s so not them. He’s his own man—a long-haired married-to-a-Gisele kind of man, who lives in LA for half of year and wears peacoats made of carrot smoothies in the off-season. And okay. That is all sort of true. But I happen to be dating a guy who cries out for Brady in his…sleep at night, which means I’ve been forced to watch the “NFL: America’s Game: 2001 New England Patriots DVD” a dozen or so times before. (I’m sure Kate and William do this as well.) But in all honesty, there is this one part of the DVD I really love. Brady has just rushed for touchdown during the Oakland game, and he is so pumped out of his mind about it that he spikes the ball in the end-zone, and in doing so, falls over like a total not Euro-piece-of-smoothiness in the snow. (Go to minute 5:31 and watch for the next half-minute— even talking about it, Brady’s all pure love-of-the-game and passion and I don’t give an F, and just, like, totally awesome and I LURVE HIM.) (Also, is that a southern accent I hear?)

So my point is, why can’t that be the kind of stuff in his ads? Why not some slow-mo, maybe a jersey*, maybe some aspects of all the stuff he says in his interviews and post-game confrences. (And don’t tell me he ain’t a little funny, case in point this past week.) Because if Brady’s got a brand, it’s intensity. It’s not his hair. It’s winning, focus, and hard work, with a little more hard work piled on top of that. And sure, you can make those things smooth and shiny and elite for him and his beautiful-ness’ sake, but I still think those aspects should be at the core of whatever brands or marketing he involves himself with. That’s what his fans really love about him—the cleft chin is just a bonus.

So give us some good ads, Tom. I think you’re as much of a bad-ass as this dude—okay, no one is, but you’re close—and that’s the kind of stuff you should be looking for.

*This doesn’t count either. He needs to be alone, no lions please, and sans that very strange Lewis’ VO.

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Now, before you judge me for writing that post title, I want you to know that I’m judging it too. However, I wanted to put you in my shoes for a little bit, cause that’s what the guy sitting behind me at the bar kept screaming last night. Thing is, the Bruins were minutes away from winning the Stanley Cup, so I kind of had to forgive him….

Kind of. Men are so weird.

But I did have to agree with him when he kept yelling “Timmy be my boyfriend!”

What a great night for Boston.


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Lightning Strikes, Maybe Once, Maybe Twice

Bruins play-off reference, or my recent need to listen to this song eighty-nine times a day?

Uh, she’s amazing. May have to wear some sort of long-sleeves-tambourine combo next time I go out. Mark my words: tambourines are going to be HUGE this spring.


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The waitress at Red Bones was a vegetarian…?

Awhile back now, my friend Leandra came to visit me from NYC. Leandra and I lived in the same apartment senior year of college. Most of my memories of that time in our lives are traumatic: they involve staring into the empty bottoms of jumbo-sized bag of Stacey’s Pita Chips, watching instructional dance videos to Soulja Boy as thesis’ sit neglected on our desks, and asking Lee for her soothsaying advice whenever I received a text message at two in the morning that said something really hard to decipher, like, “u awake.”

But what does it mean, Lee? Does the absence of a question mark in this text mean that he wants to take me out to a romantic dinner tomorrow night and ask me about the meaning of human existence?

I don’t know, Care…maybe, but, uh, did you eat all the hummus again? I really need some hummus….

So yes, I was very excited about her trip. It’s always fun to be around a friend who you can sit next to in silence while eating Fruity Pebbles and feel perfectly happy. Also, Leandra is a pretty major foodie (foodie; what a stupid word) and lover of treats—she works at Serious Eats (major cool food website) and writes a blog about, you guessed it, FOOD—so I knew the trip was going to be wonderful in general, because it gave me a great excuse to get off my ‘arse and explore the city a bit. And like a ten-year-old saving up for her second Puppy Surprise (yeah, I still played with Barbies until I was a junior in high school), I had a stash of cash hidden beneath a pile of old tank-tops in my bureau, just to make sure I could fully enjoy our weekend together when she came. Did somebody say egg benedicts and manicures!! I say no to nothing!!

We had a ball. It was like the First Wives Club movie all weekend long, when they’re all wearing white power suits and dancing on the tops of chairs. Leandra wrote all about it on her blog here. (Take a loook.) We began our trip by hitting up Beacon Hill for breakfast and manicures on Saturday (I enjoy me some Town Nails in the basement off of Charles Street: minus points for all their US Weekly’s being five years old; bonus point for the manicures being faaaaabulous), followed by lunch and treats in the North End, followed by my inaugural trip to Red Bones in Somerville (my boyfriend’s version of DisneyLand), followed by another inaugural trip, this time to Flour, in the South End. (So many inaugurations in one weekend! I even wore this hat the entire time!) And because I had spent all week mentally preparing for the trip, I was able to put down food with Leandra like we did in our glory days of college, when every trip we took to the dining hall turned into a competitive eating contest. (“Well, I mean, do you want to go home and eat Doritos or are you going to get fro-yo?” “Fro-yo, duh, and I’m going to mix Cap’ N’ Crunch, granola and hot fudge in it.” “Well, I’m going to do the same, and then I’m going to eat a Belgian waffle.” “Fine.” “Fine.”) So yeah, it was amazing. But due to the situation at Monica’s and Modern Pastry pre-Red Bones, I couldn’t muster up the courage to order ribs by myself, and Lee and I had to split a plate of pulled-pork together. But it was some pretty good pulled-pork. (According to my boyfriend, eating anything besides a small breakfast at least eight hours before entering Red Bones is a “rookie mistake,” and we had sort of blown it. And, yes, he really talks like that. During the Final Four, I think I heard him say “punch their ticket to the big dance” about twelve times in one night.) But it’s fine. I’m clearly just going to have to go back.

Which brings me to Flour. The only thing I knew about the place was from my life-changing experience with Ms. Chang’s home-made oreos, but I knew Leandra couldn’t leave Boston without trying one. And I was confident the rest of Flour’s food would live up to the hype. And it did. The three of us got there around eleven a.m. on Sunday. The place was way too crowded, but I suppose that’s part of the Flour experience, and the extra time in line gave us plenty of minutes to oogle at cinnamon buns and over-order. Here are some photos I took at the shop below. They capture the deliciousness of the donuts and OREO COOOOOKIES; Leandra’s infectious energy and beauty (in her blog post, she conveniently left out the fact that the men at Monica’s started hitting on her the moment we entered the sub shop on Saturday. I go in that place all the time and attempt lame banter about the Bruins as I purchase goat cheese, and am routinely shot down with awkward silences and “take your sub and get outta here” looks. But they took one glance at Lee’s sexy Italian style, heard that throaty Long Island voice, and she was already getting the credit card look-over, followed by “So, uh, where you from Leandra?” and “Come back in and visit us soon, Leandra.” I was like, ‘Come back and visit us soon, Leandra‘? I always visit you guys! It’s over!) Anyhow, I digress. Here are the photos, and, also, my boyfriend’s dimple. (Thankfully, he still likes me, even if Leandra and I made it over to Ernesto’s a measly two hours after our Flour trip…)

Do yourself a favor and try really hard to eat one of these oreos before the day ends.

Next stop: making Leandra come back so we can try Toscanini’s ice cream. I’ve never had it before….


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Big game tonight.
And like Ray in this amazing photo of 90s tight-and-belted-blue-jeans above, I was not amused with Game 1. At all. It gave me a serious case of heart burn. Let’s hope Rondo and Baby play MUCH better, the refs aren’t huge BIG idiots, and Lebron does his confused and hurt face all night long.
Also, there’s this…
(photo from

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