My civic blonde moment

When I woke up yesterday, after completing my Tuesday morning ritual of catching up on Google reader, email, Facebook and the previous night's Dancing With the Stars, I buckled down to do my voting research.

You see, there weren't any races here in my part of NJ that were particularly publicized. I wanted to do my civic duty but I wanted to know what I was doing. So I used the old Google to find out what was up with the candidates and made my choices. I felt like a good person. A good, patriotic, educated person.

Imagine my surprise when I walked into the little voting booth, pulled the curtain closed behind me, and didn't recognize any names.

Apparently I had done all my research for the wrong district.

WOH WOHHHHHHHHHH

So I did the only thing I could really do in that situation - I voted along party lines. I mean, there's a good chance I would have ended up voting for those people anyway. But I still felt like a traitor to my own ideals because I would never advise someone to vote blindly by party affiliation and nothing else.

And I mean, there was no way I was going to...NOT vote. I'm like a 4 year old. Must! Press! Buttons!

At least I was ready to rock NJ's one state ballot question.

They didn't have any "I voted!" stickers at my polling place. I was a little sad about it (because, again, 4 year old - STICKERS!), but I realized that considering my idiocy, I didn't totally deserve one.

Next time, Gadget. Next time.

Home is...where?

Oops, meant to write about this awhile ago. Whatevs.

As you all probably know, many of us here in this fabulous commonwealth recently experienced what we called "aquapocalypse." Pretty much there was a huge water main that broke somewhere and we were told not to drink, brush our teeth, or cook with any water unless it was a) bottled or b) boiled first. Fine.

Alerts came out online and on TV as to which towns were safe from the dirty poop water and which had to follow the boil order. Among the areas listed for the boil order were Newton, Boston and Brookline. I live in a lovely little town called Brighton that happens to be near all of the aforementioned areas. The news never specifically mentioned Brighton but since I was smack in the middle of all of those, I decided to be safe and made a run for bottled water like everyone else.

At some point I mentioned to my roommate that it was weird that they never named Brighton for the boil order, and she goes, "Well, they said Boston on there, and Brighton is just an area of Boston."

Jigga what?

So apparently I've been living in Boston for the last 2 years and didn't know. And I was always like, "Well I live West of Boston" and all my New York friends would nod because a) no one cares b) no one knows the difference c) no one in Manhattan says they live West or East of anywhere. You just give your intersection.

But still, this confused me. Because if I leave my house and start walking East it goes something like this:

Brighton --> Brookline --> Boston

And I didn't understand how Boston and Brighton/Boston could make a little Brookline sandwich. So I consulted the great internet and found 2 things.

The first thing is that Allston, home of the awesome Sunset Grill, is also part of Boston, so now my little rudimentary map looks like this:

______________Allston
Brighton --> Brookline --> Boston

So I guess Boston just goes across the top there. No soup sandwich for you, Brookline.

The second thing I found is that apparently some people were similarly confused and had posted on some aquapocalypse-related forums being like, "Panic! I live in Brighton! Is my water clean?" and then they similarly got schooled, and then a Boston blog went on to make fun of them for not knowing where they lived.

So I guess I'm not the only moron who didn't know that they lived in Boston, but seriously why didn't anyone tell me that I live in Boston? It's not like anyone in Astoria or Williamsburg randomly finds out one day that they live in New York City. They know.

It's days like that that make me wonder how I ever graduated high school.

Whatever, I'm on break and so is my brain

Sometimes I am very smart.

Lauren: what r u wearing to britts
Arielle: yeah...dunno
Arielle: i mean, actually i dont even have that many going out clothes here
Arielle: so either what i wore to motown, or the green and black dress i wore in vegas which im sure you dont remember but i have pics haha
Lauren: i cant go on fb can u email me a pic
Arielle: yeah hold on

Pause.


Arielle: okay i like cannot locate my vegas pics
Arielle: haha i have no idea what folder theyre in on my comp
Arielle: oy
Lauren: haha good job
Arielle: oh i found them
Arielle: in the folder called "vegas"

First blonde moment of the school year

I'm back in Boston for the weekend, doing a little thing called "moving." It is fun. Not. Anyhoo.

I went to school today to check out what books I need for the semester so that I can go buy them cheaper somewhere else (booyah). I left the bookstore and proceeded to wait for the shuttle home. A ways off to my left was the marching band, practicing for the first football game.

To my right was some construction. I couldn't see it from where I was, but I could hear the banging. After a minute or so, I noticed that whoever was hammering or whatever was doing it quite rhythmically. I guessed that they were entertaining themselves, since, if you're going to be doing manual labor, you may as well make it fun, right? I remembered taking some kind of World Music class at Tufts and how our teacher played us a recording of something that sounded like Stomp - there were clearly no real instruments being used but the end product was an awesome percussiony sound. As it turned out, it was a recording taken at a post office somewhere in Africa - the workers got through their dull days by making up rhythms.

I pondered this African post office phenomenon as I bopped my head to the sound of the construction. It was then that I realized something - there was no construction. There was a drummer. Drumming. On a real instrument. And after a few seconds, he was joined by other drummers. The marching band's percussion section had apparently split off from the rest to go practice on their own.

Heh. Oops.