People, apparently, are supposed to have goals. So, a few years back I got one: To live in Somerville.
Well, as of Wednesday I'll have achieved my goal. I guess that means I'm done?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
It will be different this time. Right, you guys?
Over the years I've compared my involvement with writing, specifically Journalism, to a lot of things: A marriage, an addiction, a sickness...Yeah, none of them were particularly flattering metaphors.
But, you guys, I think I've nailed it. For me, journalism is what I'd imagine a slightly abusive relationship to be like.
(Disclaimer: I'm not trying to make light of domestic violence and stuff. So, you know, don't get angry about that.)
Journalism and I got together when I was really young. I was still in high school the first time one of my stories was published in a non-school publication. Wow. What can I say? I was smitten.
During college we kept it pretty quiet. I took a lot of classes that were supposed to teach me how to be a better journalist. And, of course, when I needed a few extra bucks, Journalism was there with open wallet.
It wasn't until after college that things went south. Initially, I was really excited. Finally, Journalism and I could be together all the time. I was an excited kid, full of plans and hopes and dreams for our future together.
Soon those good vibes were replaced with 12-hours days, buy-outs, an empty bank account and illnesses I didn't have time to see a doctor about. I started thinking I had made a mistake. Maybe Journalism and I weren't meant to be. I'd think about switching careers.
"Who else will have you?" Journalism would shoot back.
"Journalism's right," I'd tell myself. "I don't really have any other skills and I hate waking up before 10 a.m."
I tried a few different news outlets. At each new job, things would initially be great, like the beginning of a new relationship. There'd be a positive balance in my checking account and sometimes I'd even have time for lunch. Soon, of course, Journalism would get angry again and things would deteriorate.
One day, I decided I'd had enough.
"Journalism, I'm leaving you," I said as I stuffed the last of my possession into my car.
"Yeah, ok. How are you going to pay your bills?"
Shit! Journalism was right. I'd have to depend on him just a little longer so that I could pay my bills until something better came along.
Three months have gone by and something did, in fact, come along. It's a reporting job but things will be different this time, right?
But, you guys, I think I've nailed it. For me, journalism is what I'd imagine a slightly abusive relationship to be like.
(Disclaimer: I'm not trying to make light of domestic violence and stuff. So, you know, don't get angry about that.)
Journalism and I got together when I was really young. I was still in high school the first time one of my stories was published in a non-school publication. Wow. What can I say? I was smitten.
During college we kept it pretty quiet. I took a lot of classes that were supposed to teach me how to be a better journalist. And, of course, when I needed a few extra bucks, Journalism was there with open wallet.
It wasn't until after college that things went south. Initially, I was really excited. Finally, Journalism and I could be together all the time. I was an excited kid, full of plans and hopes and dreams for our future together.
Soon those good vibes were replaced with 12-hours days, buy-outs, an empty bank account and illnesses I didn't have time to see a doctor about. I started thinking I had made a mistake. Maybe Journalism and I weren't meant to be. I'd think about switching careers.
"Who else will have you?" Journalism would shoot back.
"Journalism's right," I'd tell myself. "I don't really have any other skills and I hate waking up before 10 a.m."
I tried a few different news outlets. At each new job, things would initially be great, like the beginning of a new relationship. There'd be a positive balance in my checking account and sometimes I'd even have time for lunch. Soon, of course, Journalism would get angry again and things would deteriorate.
One day, I decided I'd had enough.
"Journalism, I'm leaving you," I said as I stuffed the last of my possession into my car.
"Yeah, ok. How are you going to pay your bills?"
Shit! Journalism was right. I'd have to depend on him just a little longer so that I could pay my bills until something better came along.
Three months have gone by and something did, in fact, come along. It's a reporting job but things will be different this time, right?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Scenes from a Somerville bus
A lesbian couple boards the bus. Both have numerous facial and ear piercings and have their headphones in. They sit facing each other across the aisle. I'm sitting next to one of the women.
Now, on this particular day I wasn't too happy with life and it had nothing to do with lesbians. I had forgotten to charge my iPod and had to listen to the hum of humanity. (Sidenote: Humanity is not nearly as pleasing to the ear as an NPR podcast.)
At some point during the trip the woman sitting next to me says to her partner, "What do you want to do?"
The lady across the aisle gives her this great devilish look and mouths back, "Tie you up."
Now, on this particular day I wasn't too happy with life and it had nothing to do with lesbians. I had forgotten to charge my iPod and had to listen to the hum of humanity. (Sidenote: Humanity is not nearly as pleasing to the ear as an NPR podcast.)
At some point during the trip the woman sitting next to me says to her partner, "What do you want to do?"
The lady across the aisle gives her this great devilish look and mouths back, "Tie you up."
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