Author: Kat (Page 83 of 89)

A Rochestarian in Boston, Part 2

(or Kat Goes to a Lacrosse Game…Alone)

“Put your hands together and let’s support your hometown team!!!”

Okay, I will, Boston Cannons announcer guy. But I don’t think you really want me to cheer for my hometown team, because my hometown isn’t Boston.

And thus is the dilemma I faced while attending the Rochester Rattlers-Boston Cannons Major League Lacrosse game at Boston U’s Nickerson Field on Saturday night. I decided Saturday morning to go to the game, seeing that it would fulfill both my need to see live sports and my homesickness. For those of you not up on your Western NY sports, lacrosse is huge in Rochester and Syracuse. Rochester has two major league lacrosse teams (indoor and outdoor, and their new soccer stadium will be also the best stadium for outdoor lacrosse in the country), and Syracuse University is like the Yankees of college lacrosse. So lacrosse is a mildly sized deal there, further proving that we are just Canadians who took a few too many steps south.

However, despite my father and I always making empty promises that “this is the year” we’re going to go take in a Knighthawks (indoor) or Rattlers (outdoor) game, I had never been to one. (In case you haven’t noticed, my father and I say we’re going to do a lot of things that we don’t get to do. However, next year’s trip to the Pro Football Hall of Fame is set in stone, and has been for years. Well, provided Steve Young gets inducted in his first year of eligibility.) So I decided I would go and make it my first official professional sports experience of my time in Boston (It took almost 3 weeks for my first Boston sports experience. This is saddening.). At $10 a ticket, it’s probably the most affordable Boston professional sports experience I’ll have. And yes, I went alone (hence the sub-title of this entry).

I’ll warn you now–don’t attend a Cannons game if you find 7-15 year old boys annoying. Out of the announced attendance of 5,308, about 5,000 had to be 7-15 year old lacrosse stick wielding boys. I happen to have lived with and be related to a 7-15 year old boy (albeit he’d rather play Yug-i-oh then lacrosse), so I don’t find them annoying. If you know that age, they refuse to sit still, and these boys were no exception. Up, down, around, all over, all the time. But they were excited to see the Powell brothers (Casey and Ryan), who both play for the Rattlers, so I don’t blame them. The Powell brothers are like the Young and Rice of lacrosse–they may not play for your team, but if you’re into that sport, and get the chance to see them, you have to see them to have said you’ve seen them playing together. (There has to be a better analogy, but I’m currently watching Steve Young butcher a teleprompter on the Children’s Miracle Network telethon, so it’s the first one that popped into my head. Swoon, drool, sighhhhhhh. The man gets better with age. Okay, maybe not. But come on, I’m sitting through a telethon to see him, although this is one of the more bearable ones because it doesn’t involve Jerry Lewis.) But anyway, Casey scores the goals, and the majority of the assists are from Ryan. But it was weird to hear all these boys talk about the Powells. “Look at him! Casey’s number 1, look at him. Look at that! Oh, look at that! He’s awesome!” In addition, both teams are made up of players from programs from across my part of New York–Syracuse, Hobart, Nazareth, Cornell, even Ithaca players fill the rosters of both teams. I didn’t really realize what Rochester had in the sport of lacrosse until that moment. These boys may be striving to play for the Rochester Rattlers or the Knighthawks someday. It’s weird–after years of being told that my city is nothing, here was something that my city was tops at.

Well, maybe.

The final score was Rochester 19, Boston 21, and the Rattlers fell to 1-2 on the season so far. The Cannons are 3-0, and they stayed on top by avoiding penalties, something that the Rattlers just couldn’t do. It was basically back and forth for the majority of the first two quarters, until the Cannons pulled away in the third and went up by 6. Rochester attempted to make a comeback and got to 19, but the Rattlers got another penalty called, giving the ball back to the Cannons with a few seconds remaining, sealing the deal. If the Rattlers could only have played a little cleaner, they would of been able to pull out the win. But the Cannons aren’t too shabby of a team, and should contend for the rest of the season because they seem to work extremely well as a team.

There’s just one little thing about lacrosse–you can’t see the ball. I don’t care that the MLL made their official ball bright orange so “the fans can better follow the action” (per the program)–you still can’t follow it. It’s worse than a hockey puck on a 13 inch television. So here’s my suggestion for the future of lacrosse–a light up ball. Come on, that can’t be too hard to do. And if you want to get really wild, here’s another crazy idea: so have a light up ball, but have like three balls in play at one time, and have only one light up at any given time and only that ball can score a goal. But the balls are constantly changing, so you have to play all of them, because you don’t know which one is going to light up at any given time. It would be CRAZY!!!

Isn’t that like the best idea in the history of ideas?!

No?

You can’t even indulge me on that one?

Does anyone even get what I’m talking about?

Fine.

And in another interesting note on the MLL, the league is owned by the “Body by Jake” guy. So in case you ever wondered what happened to him and his infomercials, that’s what happened to him. He’s “innovating” the sport of lacrosse by changing the ball color to orange instead of yelling at you from the TV to get in shape.

All in all, it was an enjoyable time and well worth the $10 of my meager grad student budget. I was home by 9:35, made myself some dinner, and watched the Lightning force a game 7 in the Stanley Cup playoffs, which I’m sad and happy about. Happy because it means one more game of hockey until who knows when, but sad because I really really want the Flames to win.

Man, I just realized how Canadian I sound. I spent a Saturday night watching lacrosse and hockey, eh. And yes, I had pop. But really, Saturday night is my favourite night of the week.

On to less Canadian things:

-So I’m watching arena football right now, and as it started, I was talking to my mom, who was too watching NBC. We had been watching gymnastics while talking on the phone (even though I was switching back and forth between the previously mentioned telethon and gymnastics), and then that ended and arena football began. My mom says to me, “Hey, I know this guy.”

“What guy?”

“This Graziani guy. I’ve seen him before. He played in the NFL.”

Mind you, Tony Graziani (now quarterback for the LA Avengers of the AFL) hasn’t played in the NFL in years. But my mother remembered him all the same. This is how much my family was into football in the mid-late 1990s–even my mom recognizes obscure second-string quarterbacks for the Falcons. If you ever wonder why such a girly girl like me knows this much about sports, there’s the reason. (Never mind the fact that my mother force fed the Olympics to me like most mothers force fed their children brussel sprouts.)

And on this note, on June 15, ESPN is announcing where auditions are going to be for the second season of Dream Job. I’m guessing that Boston will be one of the places they hit. And with that comes the inevitable throng of my friends telling me that I should audition. Let me tell you, with the events of the past week, it is very tempting to say screw grad school and cast my fate to the whim of ESPN producers. However, I will not. Despite people saying I have pretty good communication skills (whenever I got interviewed on TV or radio in college, people always said I sounded good), I still am not the best speaker in the world. I stumble over certain words, despite practicing them over and over, and exteramperously, I struggle sometimes. And really, I don’t know enough about sports. I mean, me and the NBA just don’t get along. So there is no way I’d make it past the initial round. I’d be a great story, and I’d be a great token female, but I don’t think I’d make it. But trust me, I’d love to audition and get through to the final rounds, win, get a job on Sportscenter, be paired up with the wicked hot Dream Job Mike and then he’d fall in love with me, we’d get married and then, like, there we’d probably have some kind of reality show about us.

Sigh.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

Hmm…but wait. Those auditions could have hot guys. And some of them would have to be single…

Maybe I’ll think about it.

-Yeah, I just realized why John Elway is not a commentator anywhere. “I just think that, uh, the difference, uh, was uh…” and he looks just absolutely thrilled to be interviewed. “John, how does this compare to your playoff days?” “Yeah, I love the arena football league and uh…”

-So for those of you who don’t know, my apartment got a cat last Monday, and I spoil her like she’s my first born child. The amount of pictures I’ve taken of her since she got here rivals the amount I took of my brother as a toddler. Her name is Annie, and she’s eight weeks old. She’s got the best qualities of my family’s three cats (we’re not crazy cat people–we only had one until two different relatives gave us their cats to “watch” and never took them back)–the cuteness and ditziness of Tabitha, the talkativeness of Xander, and the desire to eat people food like Muffin (I warn you now, I didn’t name any of them)–all in cute little tiny kitty format. Plus she sits in the living room and watches sports with me! (And just sports–she didn’t like it when I watched “Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?” on Style earlier.) I didn’t name her (my apartmentmates did) but the more I think of it, it’s kind of fitting: all the girls in my family have the middle name Ann, and I’ve always intended on keeping on the family name if and when I have daughters, and when I was little, one of my ambitions was to be in the musical Annie (which is a problem when you’re tone deaf.) So it works. And she’s adorable. And it’s so nice to have a pet around again. I never considered myself a pet person, but with Lucky my fish and now with Annie, I’ve realized that I kind of am. Actually, I’m just motherly in general, with all the good and bad that comes with that.

I’ll post the pictures somewhere once I get them developed, which will be in the next few weeks. I still have to finish the roll. Annnnnnnnniiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee, come heeeerrrrrreeee, I have 6 pictures to burn on this roll…

-CD recommendation of the week: Avril Lavigne’s new CD. So hurt me. It’s good. Listen to “My Happy Ending.” Man, I didn’t know a 19 year old Canadian could be so bitter. I never really liked Alanis Morrisette because I was way too young when she was big, she swore too much, she complained too much about guys (like, honey, guys aren’t everything, and really, maybe you were some of the problem in those relationships) and sometimes I just like my music stupid. So Avril Lavigne corrects all those problems I had with Alanis Morrisette and puts it in an easily digestible format.

-This entry is a rare example of Part 2 being far better than Part 1.

Off to act as a high school guidance counselor and go pick out colleges and arrange visits for my sister! My mom is like frantic. My sister just wants to go to Ithaca. Neither understands that you can’t put all your eggs in one basket.

A Rochestarian in Boston

When I first moved to Binghamton back in 2002, I called my father and said, “Dad, this place is the retirement home for old Chevy Luminas,” the car my family had recently gotten rid of. Well, if Binghamton was home to early 90s Luminas, Boston is the retirement home of old Volvos. If Boston has an official city car, it has to be the Volvo, with any Volkswagen not too far behind. I mean, I even saw a Volvo limousine today while walking on campus. After being told repeatedly that it is “crazy” to drive and own a car in Boston, there are so many cars that it makes me wonder if Bostonians take their own advice, or if they just don’t want another car added to their commute.

However, as I was thinking that, I witnessed first hand the curse that is owning a car in Boston. Thursday afternoon, my apartment-mates and I ran over to a store in Coolidge Corner (an area of shops). On our way out of the store, we were walking up to Amanda’s car only to find another car was hitting it right at that moment. Trying to create a parking spot of his own, a man had his rear bumper pretty much on top of hers. Luckily and remarkably, there was no dent or scratch, but the man wasn’t too pleased when he got out of his car and Amanda called him on it.

While I think I’d rather drive in Boston than in New York City, I would overall rather leave the driving to the T drivers, and put up with the occasional messed-up service (like Wednesday’s temporary storm-related shut-down of the B line as I was trying to make my way to gymnastics) and more-often-than-not overcrowded cars.

But as the days go by, I’m learning to appreciate places like Binghamton and Rochester. Especially Rochester, which I now appreciate in an entirely different light, with it’s big city qualities (museums, great restaurants, mildly big sporting and music events, good shopping) within an easy to get around structure and small neighborhoods. I mean, even Binghamton is livable if you have a car that can get you to Syracuse every once and a while and if you take your time and find the not-too-townie populated places. However, I advocate the “you should live in one big city once in your life if you have the chance” mantra. How will I know where I want to live if I don’t try out everything? And that idea is what has kept me from applying to three jobs back at home that I’ve found. I didn’t give up my friends and family to stay in Boston for just a month. No matter how lonely I may get in Boston, I have to make it through the year. I owe it to myself.

So I’ll make it through the year here, but who knows if I’ll make it in one piece, as evidenced by what happened in gymnastics this week. Now, I might of mentioned that my mother expressed deep worry when I told her that I was taking gymnastics this summer. “Katie, you do realize you never quite got that shoulder thing fixed, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Mom, but that was years ago.”

“Honey, that was three years ago.”

“Yeah, exactly. Three years ago. It hasn’t given me problems in a long time.”

“If it’s not your shoulder, it’ll be something else. Think about it. You’re kind of accident-prone.”

“Third time’s a charm, Mom. I’ll be fine. It’s only a few weeks anyway.”

Fast forward to Thursday night’s conversation, which I dreaded, but figured I had to have.

“How are you?” my mom asked.

“Well…uh…I have a headache. But it’s a really funny story!”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how I take gymnastics?”

“Yes, Katie.”

“Well…it’s really funny if you think about it. I got kicked in the head while spotting a back walkover.”

“That’s why you have a headache?”

“Well, then five minutes after that I was doing a back walkover and my bad shoulder gave out and I landed straight on my head.”

“What do you mean your shoulder gave out?”

“Well, it was sore the other times, but this time it hurt a lot…”

Needless to say, my mom wants me to drop the class. But I’m fine now. Really. (Takes another dose of Advil.) I mean, if I ice my shoulder and don’t do much with it, I don’t feel a thing. And trust me, after this, I’ll never do gymnastics again. I mean, I’m getting kind of old. I’m 22. I need to stop trying to fulfill my dreams of childhood. Just after I learn how to do a few more things on the beam…

Speaking of gymnastics, I think two of the girls in my class are engaged. (They had diamond solitaries on their ring fingers that they didn’t take off for class. Safety hazard?) Couple that with the endless amounts of couples that walk down the street or make their way on the T, take the fact that I’m the only single girl in my apartment, and take the fact that the theme of 2004 thus far seems to be “people I know getting married,” and I’m beginning to think that I’m the last remaining unattached person on earth.

Of course this isn’t true (4 of the 6 Hunter 115 girls were single), but it’s reached a point that I know more attached (dating on up) people than unattached. That’s never happened before. However, I once heard someone say that right after you graduate from college, a wave of your friends will get married, and for a good two years, you’ll be invited to more weddings and recognizing more names in the wedding announcements than you ever thought you would. And then it just stops. Three to five years down the road, you go through the other wave of friends and their marriages (or in some cases, the same friends with their second marriages). You either get married at 22-24, or you get married at 27-30. Now, I don’t know how true that is, but I’m thinking that sounds about right. And because I’m a crazy overachieving workaholic, I’ll be in that latter group, which is fine with me, because with this much educational debt, I’m not very attractive wife material. And because of the whole crazy overachieving part, it’s kind of hard for me to meet guys and keep them around anyway. So let me work myself out of the crazy overachieving-ness, and then maybe I can join the droves of ya’ll heading for the chapel. Plus, I’m still looking for the twin of Tom Brady, so like, I can’t get married till I find him. So yeah…(Tom Brady doesn’t have a twin that I know of, but if he did, watch out!)

Now if you don’t mind me, it is off to drown the sorrow of the Red Sox’s fourth straight loss with a movie and full-flavoured pop (I’m taking a night off the diet pop, because every once and a while you have to remind yourself what the real thing tastes like.)

Saturday Night’s Alright for…… Administrative Planning Project Planning!

Haha, I rock with that title right there.

I’m updating sooner than usual to give my working friends (Jay and Sara–hmm, both work in Maryland, meaning my biggest fan base consists of working IC ’03 grads in Maryland) something to start off their work week with on Tuesday. I’ll be starting my new job officially on Tuesday, so I’ll be joining your working people ranks.

So while I was doing my administrative planning project planning (which just means I’m now being graded on the manic planning I do for everything–like, honestly, I was doing these project definitions and work breakdown structures back when I was 10 and attempting to start my own reading club. I’m not lying. Next time I’m home I’m going to go look for that stuff–over the course of my childhood I planned out the makings of about five clubs for me and my friends, complete with t-shirts, hats, badges and elaborate membership structure. I was obsessive-compulsive with the administrative planning as a child, and I’m only now realizing this. Is this why I didn’t have many friends?) I had to look up statistics on various schools in the Rochester MPA (Metropolitan Planning Area, a term I had a 20 minute discussion with Jen about this morning really randomly). And I give you this fun news: in the area of attendance rate, School of the Arts (my alma mater) has every Greece high school beat. Haha! Hahahahahahahaha! Haha! And Wheatland-Chili, Churchville-Chili, East Rochester and Rush-Henrietta. HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! And every other city school, but does that need to be said? Plus, at 94.2%, SOTA is smack in the median of every other school (it looks like the average is 94.9%) Excuse me while I laugh. We rock. Comparably in most categories of statistical analysis, SOTA is on par with most suburban districts (except for West Irondequoit, Webster, Brighton and Pittsford, the big 4 schools that beat everyone at everything). So try telling me I got an inferior education in the Rochester City School District. The statistical analysis proves otherwise.

This class is fun, can’t you tell? I like grad school.

-On another educational note, I think I’ve figured out where BU produces the money for my scholarship: the parking fees they charge on Red Sox game nights. My last two admin planning classes have coincided with Red Sox games, and while walking from Kenmore station to class, I noticed that every parking lot on that side of campus has been converted for that night to Red Sox game parking run by Boston University Parking Services. At $25 a car, they are rolling in the dough. So thank you public-transportation-avoiding Red Sox fans for allowing me to go to grad school in this fine sports-loving town. (I could use some more living money though–I want to stop just eating whatever’s on sale at the grocery store–so if you wouldn’t mind forking over a few more dollars…)

-Another sign that I’m beginning to acclimate to Boston: I have now established a dependency on a Dunkin Donuts product. My willpower has diminished when it comes to the Vanilla Chai. This is not good. I told myself that while I’ve always liked them, I can’t let myself to give into this habit in the probable case I do move back to Western New York next year.

-In case I didn’t accost you asking you the laundromat prices in your area of the country on Friday night and tell you the following story, I had my first Boston laundromat experience on Friday afternoon. It’s ridiculously expensive. Someone buy me a wash board and Mom, send up my drying rack. But besides that, I shrunk socks. Now, mind you, I’ve been doing my own laundry for quite a while now. And with the exception of a pair of jeans and a sweater, I’ve done quite well for myself in the past few years on the shrinking front. But no, I shrunk three pairs of socks. They now resemble baby socks. I took a picture as evidence, and when I develop this roll of film, I’ll try to find some way to post it so you can all revel in this randomness.

This is further evidence that I need a film crew following me, creating a reality show about klutzy happy-go-lucky Katherine attempting to live in a big city. Especially after I expressed excitement to my apartment-mates earlier that I went into a Macy’s on Friday for only the second time in my life and that I saw J.Lo jeans. I mean, it’s Macy’s!!! And J.Lo jeans!!! We don’t have such things in Western New York. And this whole crossing the street even if the light says “Don’t Walk” because the cars are way off in the distance–woah. This is all new territory for me. I must look like a deer in the headlights at some instances, like when the subway randomly shuts off at Copley or realizing that everyone here is a Red Sox fan (I keep seeing people in Red Sox gear and saying to myself, “Wow, there’s another one here! I wonder if everyone else make fun of them too…oh wait. I’m not in New York State anymore.”) Yeah. If you’re a reality show producer, I would really jump on this while I’m still painfully naive. I could give those rich girls a run for their money. Well, not the real Rich Girls from MTV–they’ll always rock in my book. But like Paris Hilton and Jessica Simpson. This is funnier than that, and I’m a poor grad student, so I’m more likeable. But then again, I’m not a blond bombshell, so I might lose the target demographic of men ages 10-18, 19-24, 25-30, 30-40, 40-50, 50-60…

-And on that living note, I made a really good meal tonight. (Yes, I know, you all can’t believe I didn’t start the place on fire.) I felt downright Rachael Ray-ish (besides the fact that my father and brother are convinced that I am her.) So, without further adu (Freddie?), I present you with my first real self-created recipe:

I Can’t Eat Pizza Every Night, So I Just Made it into Pasta

Bow-tie Pasta (I think ziti would work too)

Canned stewed tomatoes with basil, chopped, along with the juice (you need the juice to create the sausiness of the sauce, so pour it in along with the tomatoes)

Fresh Spinach, chopped into bite sized pieces

Mushrooms (I used canned stems and pieces, but next time I’ll use fresh)

Fat-Free Ricotta Cheese (my secret ingredient in everything I make)

Optional: Fancy Olives (like from the olive bar in Wegmans, or, if you are like me and Wegmans deprived, try the hoity-toitiest supermarket you can find), chopped. I didn’t use them tonight, but I should of.

Make the pasta. While you’re cooking the pasta (I would recommend after you put the pasta in the water), heat all the other ingredients in a frying pan and cook it together, making sure to keep stirring it so it doesn’t burn. Once it starts bubbling, turn down the heat, wait a minute, and then turn off the burner. Once the pasta is done and drained, throw it in the pan with the sauce, mix it all together, heat it up for like five seconds if need be, and serve.

My parents would be so proud. I took a picture of it to show them as proof that I’m not going hungry.

-If you haven’t heard of Gavin DeGraw, I urge you to. His CD is pretty cheap right now because he’s slowly getting big, so get it before it’s $15. Listen to the song “Crush.” That is the story of my life right there, just reverse the sexes. It’s about having a crush on someone, and then trying to tell them and totally messing up or totally getting rebuffed. And, here’s the kicker–it uses sports analogies to tell the story!!! “When my pass came in, you dropped the ball/It didn’t change the way I feel.” Haha! I love it. (Not that that’s happened lately–I’ve learned not to ask guys out anymore. But I used to. Actually, on the romantic front right now, I’m without any prospects, seeing that I just moved here and the only guy I really have a crush on right now doesn’t live here. But that’s okay. Just give me time.)

-Guess what? The team with the second hottest hockey player ever–the Calgary Flames–won again! Where’s my puck-shaped candles? Come on, guys, prove me right. Just let me see another game–I’ve missed the past two.

So I was thinking the other day, I should have a Hot Athlete Hall of Fame. To be under consideration, I have to have thought you’re hot for at least 2 years. And, of course, you have to be a professional athlete. So the next time I’m bored on the subway and have nothing to think about, I will consider this and devote an entry to the founding class of the Katherine A. Hasenauer Hot Athlete Hall of Fame (the Kah-Hahof?).

Hmm, actually, maybe I’ll just go to bed and let the deliberations for the Kah-Hahof take me to sleep.

Yeah, I like that idea.

(I need a life.)

What I Wouldn’t Give for a Pop, Abbotts’ and a White Hot Right Now to Go Along with My Digital Cable and Amazing Stanley Cup Final

Okay, here’s three words you never thought I’d say:

I miss Rochester.

Now pick all your jaws off the floor, and get ready for the next statement:

I miss Binghamton.

Now, that one may take a while for you all to recover from. I couldn’t wait to get out of each place, and now I miss them like I have never missed anything ever before. I guess it was inevitable, but I told myself I wasn’t going to feel these things, that I was too excited about moving to Boston to be depressed. But then I got here and realized that everyone I care about is back in New York State. And I realized that gosh darn it, as much as you prepare and save, it sure is expensive to live in Boston. And then I realized that I have to start all over again by scratch, that I have to do the dirty work, that I have to impress people, that I have to go out and find the opportunities all over again. Can’t I just stay one place and build on what I’ve done? Two years one place, two years another, now onto another. And then I realized that I need a break, because I’m burnt out not unlike those prodigy child figure skaters/gymnasts/tennis players who just quit at age 17 saying, “I just want to be a kid!” Well, I just want to be a 22 year old! I just want to sit around and not worry about anything for a week and get to spend time with all of my friends.

Blech. Things will get better. I’m here now, it’s fun, and I need to resist the homesick and Binghamton-sickness. I will get to go home in a few weeks, then off to see my downstate NY friends a week after that, then home again for the holiday, and then home again hopefully during the Democratic National Convention (because no one’s going to be around for that one). I hope I can get that one off, although that looks pretty darn unlikely.

It’s just hard. I have great friends, and I love talking to you all. I just miss seeing you all, and I hate knowing that you’re all there (there being New York) and I’m here. And if things get really bad, I can always transfer…because that’s what I do best, haha! But that’s unlikely, because Boston has been my dream since I was 10.

Darn post-graduation-stress-syndrome.

Onto other news:

-I got the job I mentioned last week in a modified form. Hey, it still works. It’s money, it’s higher ed, it works.

-I have found mint chocolate chip ice cream at the corner store. Three different varieties in fact. So thankfully, mint chocolate chip does exist in Boston. Unfortunately, Wegman’s mint chocolate chip brownies (which now are available at all Wegmans’, or so the ad last Sunday said) are not. Or actually, I should rephrase that. Unfortunately, Wegmans in general does not. Shaw’s is acceptable, and I like it better than most supermarkets, but really, Boston, you don’t know what you’re missing. Wegmans is the best thing since…I don’t know. I can’t put it into words. It’s just amazing. (On that note, did I ever tell the story about how I used to wait at the bus stop with a girl who was a Wegman? Like Danny Wegman’s niece or second cousin or something–it was 8th grade, so I forget. Like, they weren’t close, but they were related.)

-On another food note, I have been informed by the Boston University food court that the type of pizza my family makes has a specific name. It is “Sicilian pizza.” I was unaware of this, but the more I think of it, the more this does make sense. My parents’ two favourite pizzas in the Rochester area are Ninos (a little past the intersection of Culver and Merchants on the Rochester-Irondequoit border–where I grew up) and Mark’s Pizzeria (which used to be in Irondequoit, near Waring Road, aka where my parents’ grew up, but it isn’t there anymore–it’s a local chain, so it’s all over, they go to the one in West Webster now). Now, I know that Nino’s advertises as “authentic Sicilian pizza,” but it’s been six years since I last had it, so I can’t remember what it was exactly like. But seeing that its my parents’ favourite, then it would make sense that their own pizza would be similar. My parents do make pizza that is square instead of circle (which is more out of the fact that for years they made it in toaster ovens, not the oven, then anything else), and it is very doughy and thick. Everything about the pizza is thick–the crust, the layer of cheese, and the pepperoni (because my dad buys a stick and cuts slices himself–we went through a phase where we didn’t have pepperoni, but as of recently, it’s back again. I have no idea why it disappeared for a year and a half.)

So anyway, I go to lunch in the University Food Court Monday, and go to the pizza part. And I look at the selection and there it is, a pizza that looks like my parents made it. I was overjoyed. I looked at the label. “Sicilian Pizza.” Huh. I bought a piece, and it tasted like my parents’. Finally! I have found a place to get pizza like my parents. Oddest of places, but I have found it.

Of course, I could just make some myself. But for those days I’m too lazy to, I know where to find it.

(And no, the Hasenauer family is not greatly Italian. I mean, look at our name. We are a little bit on my dad’s side, but that’s it. But walk into my house and spend time with my dad’s family and my immediate family, and you’d think we were the Sopranos–just without the shooting and the dumping of bodies and the cursing. Okay, maybe the cursing–except for me. But not the killing.)

-Public transportation is so not made for us vertically challenged people. I can not reach the top bar of the subway car, which is a problem when you’re on a crowded train and that’s the only place to hang on. I stood on my tiptoes and held on with my fingertips. That was all that would reach.

In addition, the city wide pastime of Bostonians, besides loving and hating the Red Sox, is to complain about the T. People, please spend five minutes without a car in Rochester, Ithaca or Binghamton and then tell me how much you think Boston has the worst public transportation then. In fact, just spend time in New York City. You all have no reason to complain.

-I am the supreme hockey goddess of the world. Thank you. Please light puck shaped candles at my feet and ask me who is going to win the series that I SO CALLED. Even before last night’s game, I was saying Calgary, because the birthplace of hockey deserves the Cup back, and because they’re good. I mean, I’m fond of Tortorella, seeing that he’s a former Amerks coach and all, but the Lightning let the Flyers come back in that conference finals series–the Flames didn’t need 7 games, but the Lightning let it go to that with the Flyers. Plus, as evidenced by last night’s Game 1, the Flames are just amazingly fun to watch. They’re sneaky and just fly across the ice. This is good hockey. Well, I mean, it’s always nice when it’s close in a game, but it’s also fun to see a fun, good team dominate a game. So I’ll take the Flames in 5 games.

(And Jarome Iginla, the Flames captain, is hot. But that’s besides the point. But really, he’s Juan-Luc Grand-Pierre material right there. Where is Grand-Pierre? He was the HOTTEST hockey player of all time. Oh wait, I just found him. He’s with the Capitals, and his picture on ESPN.com does not do him any justice. When he was with the Amerks, he was amazingly good looking.)

And onto other hockey news, hockey season officially ended tonight at the Blue Cross Arena, with the Amerks’ 4-1 loss to the Milwaukee Admirals tonight, letting the Admirals take the series 4 games to 1. It was a good run–I remember my father complaining at the beginning of the season that the Amerks were “stinkin’ up the place.” They weren’t the best team this season, but they’re always fun, they always try, and playoff Amerks hockey is just a Rochester tradition. Next year, people, next year.

-On another homesick note, I keep saying pop. I went to Shaw’s and looked for white hots. They don’t have white hots here. At least in Binghamton I could go to Wegmans and get some real white hots (not the Syracuse kind–Syracuse white hots are different all together–they’re skinnier and spicier.) And while I make a conscious effort to say soda, I still slip and say pop occasionally, even after four years of living with non-Rochestarians. No one has called me on it here yet, but I dread the day I go to a restaurant and slip. See, in Rochester, you can go to a restaurant and ask for an orange pop or a regular pop and people know exactly what you want. (I know–my parents do this when ordering at fast food restaurants.) I fear they won’t know what pop is here in Boston, and then I’ll feel like an idiot.

-I just realized something. There are hot hockey players, hot football players, hot baseball players, hot tennis players–but the sport of basketball lacks in hottness. Remember my famous profile quote of a few months back, where Marsha and I were in the dining hall and the men’s basketball team walked in. “Why aren’t any of the basketball guys cute?” she asked. “Because we’ve only been D1 three years.” I answered. But I was wrong now that I think about it. Basketball doesn’t lend itself to hot guys. Well, professional basketball anyway. There are some nice ones in college, and trust me, just average guys playing always produces some good ones. But in the big league, very few, if not none. The NBA makes me sleep. If I had a TV in my room and needed to fall asleep quick, I’d turn it to the NBA playoffs.

-Speaking of TV, I like digital cable. A lot. Me + digital cable + pizza = a happy Saturday night. All my apartment-mates were away for portions of the weekend, leading me to have the place to myself for most of Saturday night. I spent the whole night with a pesto, tomato, broccoli and cheese pizza, flipping back and forth between baseball, hockey, gymnastics, more hockey and random shows. There was so much to choose from. It was great. Now I just have to get some kind of deal this fall where I can have NFL Network, and then I will never ever leave my apartment. (I have no life, but at least I’m happy that I have no life.)

-And I leave you with my quote of the week, as found in Tuesday’s Boston Metro while I was reading it on the subway:

“Some people are overachievers and don’t have time for sex. You can’t put sex on your resume.”

-The creator of Harvard’s all-sex “literary magazine”

Wait, it doesn’t count as “networking?” Ooh, that was a patented Katherine-Bad-Joke-Of-The-Week!

(On a bitter and more personal note, I’m sorry, but when my family buys me into an Ivy League school like these kids’ parents’ probably did, maybe I’ll be able to drop my “if it can’t be put on a resume, it’s not worth doing” mantra.)

Welcome to Being a Grown Up…Well, Maybe

As I write this, I am sitting in my bedroom in my apartment in Brighton, MA, eating coffee ice cream (more on that later) and listening to a radio station that proclaims itself “Boston’s #1 Hit Music Station” (which, you know, it probably isn’t, or it is, but in some random demographic and that’s why like 6 stations in an area can make that claim). Earlier, as I ate dinner, I watched NESN’s Red Sox pregame.

Welcome to my dream world. And I’m living it.

Okay, maybe it’s not exactly my dream world. But it’s the closest to it than I have ever gotten. The only thing missing are the people–my two good friends up here are away until Sunday at the earliest. So I’ve kind of been on my own for a day now. Now, mind you, that whole being on my own thing would of thrilled me like 4 years ago when I was a loner. But I kind of am not a loner anymore, so this being by myself thing is kinda hard to get reacquainted with.

But why complain? I’m living in Boston and I have my own bedroom. It doesn’t get much better than that. And, to top things off, I have found what is probably the only job in the world that encompasses everything I like/am good at: I interviewed today to be an administrative assistant for the summer at Boston University’s Department of Physical Education, Recreation and Dance. Sports (gymnastics and skating included!) + Dance + Higher Education Administration = Like everything I like and have wanted to do ever. Well, except that brief span when I was 4 where I wanted to be a firefighter. Yeah. I’m kinda happy to abandon that one. Let’s cross all of our fingers (well, I mean, unless you like have arthritis or something, then I wouldn’t recommend that) and hope that I get it.

On to the funnier parts of the past few days:

-So I keep going to the grocery store because it’s like a 4 minute walk from my apartment, because I’m not used to cooking for myself and I don’t know what I’ll eat and what I need to make it. Seriously, I have become a compulsive supermarket shopper. It’s addicting. So anyway, I’m walking down the aisles tonight and come across the tuna. I considered buying some. The following thought then went through my head, I kid you not: “If I buy the tuna, then I have to buy mayonnaise, and then maybe onion, and that’s a whole downward spiral I’d rather not go down.”

Does that make any sense? And the sad thing is that I listened to myself.

And a note about ice cream: apparently mint chocolate chip ice cream does not exist in Brighton. The supermarket up here has every other flavor known to man EXCEPT for mint chocolate chip. So I was resigned to buying my second favourite flavor, coffee. Two days now, no mint chocolate chip. Hmm…

-I live off of Beacon Street. I turn left out of my apartment, a few steps and I’m on Beacon Street. Now, from there, I could turn left, walk a few blocks and hit a CVS and Dunkin Donuts, or I could turn right, walk a few blocks, and hit a CVS and a Dunkin Donuts. Walk the other way on my street, and you hit Commonwealth Ave. Turn left from there, walk a few blocks, a CVS and a Dunkin Donuts. Turn right, walk a few blocks, hit like 10 CVS’ and Dunkin’ Donuts’ in the span between there and Kenmore Square. People! I don’t need that many donuts, let alone that many places to get overpriced makeup and toiletries.

-Haha! I can wear my Red Sox shirt here and NOT GET JEERED!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is a brand new concept to me!

-I am currently losing fantasy baseball this week 14-1. Man, I was on a two week not-losing streak (won one week, tied the next). This is because none of my pitchers have come up yet this week, or at least this is what I’m telling myself. My fantasy baseball people have yet to set up a fantasy football league, which apparently every single website wants everyone to do already. It’s May. I’m thinking football because I always am, mind you, but I properly can’t evaluate people until training camp…which I won’t get to go to this year because I’m here, and Bills camp is at home. Sad moment.

-Graduation still hasn’t hit me yet. I’m sure it will soon. We ended up having two guest speakers: Sen. Schumer and the composer guy who I have never heard of in my life. Both weren’t too bad. The student speaker sounded like he wanted to be either a Kennedy or William Shatner. I should of been the student speaker. But I’m not bitter. Really.

At the Mountainview Commencement ceremony on Saturday, I did get to speak (all of us graduates did). Well, the instructions Jeff and Darlene had given me prior to the ceremony had said, “Share a memorable experience from Mountainview.” And then they told me that I needed to tell the story about the time I forgot Jeff’s name (see the entry from three weeks ago or so). So I planned to.

Chuck goes first, and just thanks everyone, says what a great year it’s been. Then there was a lull. No one knew who should go next. I knew I had to get up and tell the story, otherwise I’d never hear the end of it. And then I hear Jeff go, “Katherine, go.” So I go. I get up there, tell the story, and it went over pretty well. People laughed, and a few people came up to me afterwards and said it was funny.

So people start to go up–and no one else told a memory. They all got serious and thanked everyone and said how great everything was and were emotional–making me look like the complete and total oddball. Yes, I looked like the class clown. I mean, though, is it like me to get all serious and emotional about anything other than Legally Blonde or football? It was the best for me to leave the seriousness to other people.

-So this weekend is my first weekend in a major city. I have nothing to do on Friday, because I don’t have class on Fridays, and I haven’t started work yet. So I think I may head over to MIT and finally see the Stata Center and Baker House in person. I’ve spend the past two months researching both buildings for my theory and methods term paper and presentation, and I’m eager to see both in person. I also am going to go on the Great Gabe Kapler t-shirt search. Wish me luck. I may also head over to Filene’s Basement, but I don’t know yet–I need to save things for other weekends.

-Go Flames and Lightning! Prove my hockey prediction skills correct! Let’s also hope that last night’s lousy Amerks performance was the exception. They were on a seven game winning streak. A poor ferry-less-while-it’s-being-repaired-yet-again-even-though-we-all-know-it’ll-probably-never-start-service-at-this-point-anyway city has its hopes riding on your heavily padded shoulders.

Okay, I should…do my nails? Reorganize the bookcase? Maybe read ahead for class? I don’t know. I’d watch more NESN, but I don’t have a TV in my room. That may have to change.

Can ya’ll tell this whole not having anything to do thing completely throws me off guard?

Hold up before I go: BREAKING HASENAUER FAMILY NEWS! My sister just IMed me and she has mono. Her prom is Friday, and she has a wicked nice dress and wicked good plans. But now she is doped up on codine. She says she’s still going, but she’s really out of it now. 🙁 Poor Megan. She is the queen, for all of the illnesses I’ve had, I have never had mono. Get better soon Megan, preferably in time for prom.