Various Outrages

What a week. I tell ya, I'm done. I am so done, I'm on the blackish side of GBD. Here's why:

1. Friday, March 7. Interview for a job I really want. Get the job offer I have lined up rescinded.
2. Wednesday March, 12. Someone murders my beloved Audi and drives away. Thankfully, no one that we know of was injured.
3. Wednesday March 12: Get another job offer.
4. Friday March 14: Husband decides to become Road Warrior for a week. I'm supportive; I get a clean garage out of the deal.

And then today's Globe article, featuring whining, over-privileged urban mommies in the South End just about put me over the edge of blackishness into carbon-cured and unpleasant.

What is it with people who say things like, "That's just not family friendly", when tagged with a $45 double-parking ticket? Guess what, bitch, if it hasn't occurred to you yet, your neighborhood is not a Victorian-style theme park designed for your living pleasure so that when little Aidan or Madeline grows older, you can tell them stories about how "mommy and daddy lived in the city" once.

You live in a city. That entails all sorts of inconveniences that are not "family friendly" because they are not intended to be.

And let me tell you another thing: You owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the artists, urban warriors, middle-class families, and others who made your neighborhood what it is.

(Oh, I'm sorry. Were you not aware that your 'hood was not always the lilly-white homogenized uber-wealthy Lexus-riddled place you inhabit today? Why yes, it's true. My blog and email get their name from the neighborhood I once loved. I first lived there in 1988, when most of you 31 to 37 year-olds were still clutching the Holly Hobby your mother received at your baby shower. Thankfully, I moved five years ago, so that I didn't have to witness it's slow, painful death by hyper-gentrification. Speaking of gentrification, have you ever asked yourselves why that gentrification seems to halt so suddenly once you cross Mass. Ave. to Northampton Street. Wait, you don't know where Northampton Street is? Not surprising. )

I'm quite certain that when Aidan and Maddie are old enough for school, you'll move back the suburbs you came from, or you'll send them to private school. You won't participate in the public schools in the neighborhood you claim to love so much.

That's the most outrageous thing of all.

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

...and sometimes you don't. Or, rather, sometimes you think you have a new job, and then you don't.

All I can say is: I'm awfully glad that they had the courtesy to call and rescind my offer of employment on the Friday afternoon prior to my scheduled Monday morning start date.

After all, I mean, they could have waited 48 hours and sent me packing on Monday morning, as I waltzed into their offices, mocha in hand.

So, in retrospect, it was nice of them to call so far in advance.

Perhaps I should ask them for the money that I'd have made with the other job offers I could have accepted but didn't.

Or maybe I'll just sleep in on Monday morning and continue enjoying "Attack of the Comfy Pants: Part 2—Spring is Coming!"

When Did New Englanders Become So Incapable?

It's February.

It's Boston.

IT SNOWS.

Oh. My. God.

When did we become so utterly incapable of managing in the snow?

This is the town that dug out with nonchalance and dignity during the Blizzard of '78. We walked to the store. We shopped for our neighbors. My mother built an igloo and kicked us out of the house. We were happy to go—after all, we had an igloo to play in, and let's be honest: How cool was that?

Yet now, with a WHOPPING five inches of snow due, the New England Emergency Management Agency and the Governor send state workers home early and encourage other businesses to do the same.

I simply don't understand it. I don't understand people who complain about the snow. I cannot comprehend those who wonder when it will stop snowing (early- to mid-April, people, that's when). Why do they live here? Why do they not understand that we live at 42.37 degrees North latitude, and hence, an area subject to a distinct, four-season climate, impacted by often severe changes in temperature resulting from a complex set of topographic and meteorologic factors into which I will not digress here?

(And I know that there are those of you who will claim some weird Puritan/Pilgrim attitude of liking to complain or a cultural memory steeped in a desire for hardship, etc., etc., but I don't buy it.)

So, to those of you who are freaked out, unhappy, or otherwise irritated by snow, I say this:

Move to Phoenix.

Locked up; Locked Out

Well, the first issue is the job. Yes, I've locked up my return to corporate america. Maybe New Company will be good. Who knows? I wish I could be happy about it, but I'm not.

The second is being locked out of my apartment for two days. Not pleasant. I love my parents, but I hate their futon. (For those of you who believe that "hate" is a strong word, I recommend that you spend two consecutive nights on my parents' futon.)

Third, the recession is real. How do I know this? Yahoo! News' deck has been featuring "stretch your food dollar" articles like "Make Canned Soup Tasty!" and "10 Things You Can Do With Ramen!".

I have three more weeks of freedom before getting cozy with New Job, and I've lots to do before then.

Perhaps I'll buy some ramen.

I Bring You a Recession

I am responsible for so very much. Yes, I am. I control the U.S. economy—I'm that powerful. You can look at every layoff I've ever been through as a bellweather for an economic downturn.

You doubt me? Let me get my resume and I'll show you, nonbelievers!

In any case, I'm really relieved to know that the Medicare Part D program benefits only the truly deserving souls who needed it: The Shrub's friends running insurance companies.

What a relief that the elderly and disabled beneficiaries of Medicare have their expensive medications covered only most of the time, while Humana and CIGNA's senior leadership (not to mention some former senior execs involved with the local healthcare landscape) will be making out like bandits come bonus time. It comforts me, the jobless one.

And now that we've had a nice satisfying rant about healthcare, let's move on to Super Tuesday. Please to direct your attention to the cover of todays' issue of The New York Times online. See John McCain's Official Trophy Wife Number Two? Look closely, and in your mind's eye, superimpose the creature from Alien onto Cindy Lou's head.

If you weren't frightened by the Senator's proposed "permanent state of war" comment earlier this month, that image should do it for you.

Run away, America!!! This couple is just Shrub-lite, and in some ways, scarier.

Now, Hil, Barack, you two just figure it out right now, or I'm sending you both to your room. Run on a joint ticket. Barack, you take role number two, and Hil, give him something REAL to do. He's a smart man, and you don't want to turn him into Al Gore 2.0, do you?

Because as we all know, Clinton-Obama will whoop some serious election-day butt if pitched against any Republican.

I am remiss!

Well, thank you Wendy McClure, your book was indeed fun, and it provided me with a holiday gift idea. Yippee! One more off the list.

Yet, I am remiss: I never linked to the man who started it all, James Lileks! His Institute of Official Cheer houses The Gallery of Regrettable Food, over which D and I had many a teary-laughter-filled morning at GCI.

I urge you to pay Ms. McClure and Mr. Lileks a visit, whip up some fluffy mackerel pudding, and wash it down with dainty cup of sherry-based chicken bullion. And don't forget the pat of butter!

Various and Sundry From the Past Month

Ooooh, once again, I'm a lazy, bad blogger. I keep my three fans waiting for an entire month for something interesting to read. So, to orders of business first:

1. New link for The South End Is Over (kudos to RBD for alerting me to this site.)
2. Welcome to Planet Earth, Miss E and Miss Z. Your mommies are happy to have their bodies back.
3. Busted leg is recovering nicely.
4. No job yet. Sweat pants are still clean, but recent purchases of two new hoodies are concerning the Husband.
5. Finally started reading Wendy McClure's I'm Not the New Me

Okay, that's out of the way! Should I start the psuedo-philisophical navel gazing now? Rats..I said I was going to stop doing that and leave it to the pros. Well, that leaves the continuing story of my current unemployment journey.

Now, six years ago, during the horrendous, post-9/11 economic slump, the unemployment thing was welcome. I was footloose, fancy free, really grooving on the total lack of jobness. Fast-forward: I'm married, need health insurance, and this time, moving in with my sister is not an option.

Plus, I'm really bored. (I realize that the boredom is likely the primary result of the busted leg, as the whole "no walking unless you're being chased by a reality TV star" puts a damper on the shopping/lunching/gym-going layoff I'd envisioned.)

But it's really easy to be bored when you must do nothing.

Wanting to do nothing is a different story.