A Renewed Effort!

As the days wear on, my career prospects get bleaker and bleaker. Or perhaps just further off course...publishing is going under and nobody need's a new writer, so I will recommit myself to this blog because being a bank teller only exercises half of my brain.

It exercises the half that is horribly under developed. Calculating and cash handling all day has literally given me head pains. The deep recesses of my cerebellum are throbbing in ways previously unknown to me.

I'm trying to think of it like exercising. The more times you get on that treadmill or lift that iron, the easier it will become and the less you'll feel like a cripple the next day. If I keep exercising my math head, my math head will get stronger and be able to run farther.

So, uhh...right right right. I'm going to do this thing more. Do it a lot more. I've been many places since my last post and I want to rip them apart and/or give them flowers. I'll make a list to remind myself:


*Big City: Brighton Ave., Allson
An alternative to the 80 minute wait you face at Sunset Tap on a Saturday Night. Less food, less beer, but more tables and toilets. What more can a gal ask for?
*Sanctuary: State St., Boston
I am by no means a nightclub person. Is that even the right term? Clubs. Hip joint. Hot Spot. Hot steamy room that charges you $5 to walk in the door, $3 to hang up your coat and $7 for a sip of vodka tonic. Maybe I started my foray into the land of the nightclubcrawlers at the wrong place. Maybe conceptual clubs aren't my thing. Three floors, the bottom is "hell" and the top is "heaven". All I know is that after walking from Beacon Hill to Sanctuary in a new pair of patent brown t-strap heels (meow), stomping down a flight of stairs to hang my coat in hell and then the two story ascent to heaven was painful enough to challenge one of Dante's circles. My blisters be damned.
*6B Lounge: Beacon St., Boston
Adjacent to Emmet's Pub, this place was just...blah. Dark and moody interior with some really excellent seating options in the windows jutting out onto the street, but the service was terrible and the food is your basic pub fare with a Beacon Hill price tag. Will any member of my 20 person party return? Not likely. We reserved a large table to fit our swollen crowd only to find upon arrival that the doorman had given it to another 20 member party who he mistook for ours. We were too hungry and determined to get drunk to bother finding another place that could fit us, so we parked it on their comfortable leather lounge seats and helped ourselves to a bounty of $5 drafts (none of which were comped despite the lounge's inconvenient faux pas, and the host's subsequent rudeness).

Tomorrow after my shift at the mine I'm going to Harvard with my brother to hear a lecture by Jonah Lehrer, author of Proust Was a Neuroscientist and How We Decide. Aside from wanting to skip down the halls of Harvard and pretend I'm a serious intellectual for a few hours, I have a secret motive for attending this lecture. Here are some hints:

Science
Poetry
Dr. Zhivago
Replacing a book of poems entitled "Lara" for the more appropriate title of "Sarah" ("r" is meant to be rolled and the first syllable grossly elongated. Think "saaaaaarrrraah")



To bed!