A Thousand (and Outta Here)

The time has come.

You’ve seen it coming and so have I. 

One friend said:  don’t stress it, just stop it.  Meanwhile, my brain said I had to give you an explanation of why I’m stopping it while my gut told me to not be an overdramatizing cliché.  In the end I wanted to write 1000 words for my 1000^th post but then feared that might end up being tedious and nauseating to all of us.

(FYI:  It’s 754, give or take a few. Feels long enough, right? Right!)

So instead:   I’m hoping what comes out here on the Friday night before summer, from the 28^th floor of the John Hancock tower looking out onto a purple sunset, strikes the balance.

Starting with me thanking you for reading this blog.  You did.  You let me overuse ellipses and sentence fragments and declarations starting with "and".

You tolerated my training for 4 of 9 marathons ... Boston, Philadelphia and DC and, almost, Stockholm.

You liked my legs. (1000 pageviews, baby.)

You read a whopping 43 posts about my insomnia, as well as all the ones I forgot to tag because I (obviously) hadn’t slept enough.

You sat on my patio with me at 1:24 a.m. and admired the basil and impatiens.  Once we listened to Jethro Tull together and I’ve not listened to them since.  (Have you?)  

You let me sell you on Charlie Brown and Secret Garden and Jason Robert Brown musicals and, occasionally, showed up at the shows.  You saw me buy my first piano.  You believe I can play the piano (don't you?), many without ever having heard me do it.

You tolerated my bikini challenges and my weight loss attempts and my cereal binges (and my copious apologies for them after the fact).   You tolerated 18 (and maybe more) Inexplicable Photos of My Feet and never asked why.  (Still inexplicable, BTW.)  You let me use the word penis as often as I wanted.

You looked at pretty much every photo I have of Henry and Oliver.

You heard me say kissing C-2 is better than just about anything in the world and didn’t throw up because of its idealism….or at least hid it from me if you have.  You didn’t chastise me for going back to him, and back, and back. You didn't know his name doesn't even start with C.  No, I'm not going to tell you what it does start with.

You didn’t ask for more information about the Man from San Francisco, despite my reticence to share details about him.  He is still in the picture, by the way. 

You didn’t give me a hard time for having (at least) 86 weekends where I was without a date.  Or for shamelessly transcribing OKC Instant Messenger chats.

You let me turn 36. Then 37. Then 38.  Then 39. 

You’ve met my mom.  Bobbo.  (The ever-awesome) Martha, on many occasions. The sisters older and younger.  Joshua.  Justin.  Student Driver.  Balint.   Bill.  Cousin J. The CFO.  Many, many others.

You let me bitch about Southie.  And an ancient vehicle I refuse to replace.  And parking tickets.  And parking. 

You took my recommendations for good songs.  Sometimes for good poems.  You never told me if you liked them (or even read them) … but that’s ok.

You went with me to Hungary, San Francisco, west coast Florida, Minneapolis, the North Dakota prairies.

You tasted Pretty Things Baby Tree and PBR and homemade Altbier and Grain Belt and Left Hand Milk Stout and Guinness.  And Guinness.  And Guinness.  And Guinness.  And Guinness.  (Yeah.  Guinness should have had its own tag, I'm seeing.)

And for all that, what is there still to say?  But thanks.  For being my friends, my critics, my motivation for observing.  My motivation for drinking too much.  For staying up too late.  For whining.  For chatting with 21-year-old penis-pictures and female wrestlers.  For trying to be good at things.  For trying to get better and for trying to excuse bad habits and for never really trying to sleep enough.

I'm still (sorta) single.  Still thirty-something.  Still renting.  Still in Southie. 

It's time to go. 

You can write me at sage (dot) risotto (at) gmail (dot) com (if we’re not already Facebook friends) and you want to stay in touch.  I promise to write back if you promise not to creep me out.  I promise to tell you when the inspiration returns and when I start writing .... something ... again.

And with that, this blog is over and out.

J

Karin -- May 21, 2012

Screenshot: An Analysis.

May 4 was the 4-year anniversary of this blog and this post is the 999th entry. 

But today I did something for -- I swear -- the first time in Single in the City's history:  googled southiesingle.blogspot.com.

Not a software engineer or SEO-algorithm-type so perhaps there is logical rationale for all this, but still amused to learn from this search....

....A Mystery:  I have visited this page 4 times, last on January 8, 2012.

So it must not have been me who wrote the additional 68 posts this year.  Or the 931 posts prior.

....What's Popular:  The months January-August 2011 and my March 2009 post about Boston Marathon training injuries are seminal highlights.

The marathon post was one of two in the blog's history (the other: "Sexy in January? Inconceivable!", which might be the best title line I ever conjured) linked to the front page of The Boston Globe for a weekend.  It was also the last time the Globe touched me ... which leads me to wonder why, never, since? Prudes.

Furthermore: I spent much of early 2011 maundering about C-2.  While I should know Tales of Unrequited Love day after day is a fascinating trope.... still.

....That Kissing Makes Headlines:  Of the dozens of comments I've ever left on Evan's piece of the internet, it was my shameless plug about French-kissing that endures.  That, and me admonishing him about not knowing what a scone is.

Lovely.   Like teenagers swapping spit and insults.  For the record:  I've never either kissed (or, thank God, Frenched) with Evan.  He would undoubtedly reply with the same level of relief.

 ....And This Blog Doesn't, Really:   "In the United States, Southiesingle.blogspot.com is ranked 2,653,720."  

Hmm.  I guess that's better than 2,657,672nd.

And. 

In case you're breathless with anticipation over what Magic Post 1000 is going to be....

Join the club.  So am I!

Fourth Anniversary (aka Post 995)

And, I still own and wear that dress.

*     *     *     *     *

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Must be the exposed collarbone ...

So I'm not married.

Meanwhile I'm 35, have two cats and don't own the dwelling I live in. These are some serious strikes in a city full of overachieving financiers, engineers and architects.

Boston has provided me with a random selection of dating options: guys sitting in the pews behind me in church; craigslist trollers responding to my posts for apartment roommates; the buffsters in polo shirts, met without verbal intro on dance floors after 12 or so "courage" martinis; the very occasional straight man in community theatre productions; the even rarer single man among the suburbanites in my office.

(The good news is that it is tremendously easier to be single in a city of this size. Easier to blend in, that is. I spent many years in small town in the Midwest and when you are 35 and not married, you are a constant object of speculation. Or perhaps you just think that folks are speculating. Or just wish they were and/or were providing you with dinner dates when inviting you over, rather than leaving you as the only single person in a room full of couples and kids.)

All these roads have led me to, or rather back to, match.com. After trying it last fall, then taking a 4-month hiatus, I'm back at it. Re-posted the profile and loaded-in a new picture....the one from my 34th birthday dinner with my sisters, showing a little collarbone and shoulder. (Hint: It's the photo attached to my profile here.) Added a tidbit about having run the Boston Marathon last month (working not to sound boastful) and how nothing is more satisfying than a long, hard yoga class.

So that was Thursday night.

One of the most fun features of match.com is the counter that shows how many people have viewed your profile. Since then, I'm up to 171 views. Plus 6 "winks", or simply "hi, I'm here!" notices, and 3 straight-out e-mail messages. This is a huge rise in volume of views over last fall -- so I'm trying to figure now what caused the uptick. Must be the exposed collarbone.

But I knew I had to make match.com the subject of the inaugural post of this blog yesterday afternoon, when a message popped up in my e-mail inbox with the title: "New Hampshire Calling." Woo-hoo! I opened it to find the following: my potential suitor is 73 years old. He likes to garden. He once studied at Harvard. He said I have nice legs.

My first thought was: wonder if he's rich.

BTBD

Busy. Tired. Brain Dead.

That's me.

I just stayed at the office until 9:30.

I just biked home into the wind.

I just ate 3 servings of pasta and black beans.

It's been a long week.

I'm feeling unable to collate sentences longer than 10 words.

I keep thinking ..... I'll just sleep more.  And then I don't.  Usually it's because I want to take some of that time to talk to MSF.  Other times, I'm just too jacked to put my head on the pillow.

Oh well.  Aprils are often this way.  The end is soon.  Although May comes shortly thereafter.  After which there is a marathon to run.

Cousin J provided some needed perspective a few nights ago, though.  She was e-mailing helpfully with ideas for planning the Sweden trip.  At the end of which she said:

"So...big hug to you in this crazy week, I see you are at the apex!  Hang in and enjoy the ride!"

I appreciate the hug.  I more appreciate that I should enjoy myself more. Be it a 13-mile run tomorrow morning or the chance to practice on a real live piano some very fun music.   Fatigue is often the reward for a life well-lived, right?

Soldier on!  BTBD or not.

Procrastination is O.K.

I've known my friend Joy for many years and as speech-language pathologist, wife and mother of 2 toddlers, she's as bright and as practical as they come and rarely not on-the-go.  If not in the midst of cooking for friends or working weekends or making her own yogurt, she's organizing large-scale group activities for charitable organizations or her daughters' pre-school.  When she began blogging at Bundles of Joy earlier this year -- writing about her lif e as it is, much as I write about the down and dirty of mine --  I was unsurprised that the medium suited both her opinions and writing skills well.  It's been a lot of fun to read .... and keeps me up on her family's life when all of us are running in a million directions.

Joy is a busy lady. 

I'm usually not as busy as her .... but currently, in a way, I am.  This is the week in April that pops up every year and   I love so much:  the apex of time-sensitive deadlines at work and piles of pending reports-to-mail are as high as my head .... plus the point in marathon training where Saturday runs are 20-plus miles (and this year including trip-planning for Sweden that has been inexcusably back-burnered already) ... plus the point in the musical production where it's all coming together (open in 10 days!) and rehearsal is every night to 10:30 and that doesn't include the bike-ride home or making dinner after. 

Yeah. The week where I feel I don't know my friends anymore and realized I haven't spoken with my parents since mid-March or my younger sister since mid-February and my hands are swollen and my body over-caffeinated and it's only 10 a.m. and already I kinda wish this day was over and I was flat on my back under the covers

That said, I'm not now suggesting that I'm glad to read this entry from Joy's blog from a few days ago. (Joy set herself up promising a weekly Sunday post about her stewardship of various personal details.)  Just relieved that other busy people aren't shy about letting their fatigue show and relaxing the self-improvement regimen we often all impose on ourselves:

Sunday Procrastination Again

I should be writing a blog entry. But instead I'm watching back episodes of GCB and giving a doll a new hairstyle. Actually, I'm trying to make the doll look like she has hair again instead of a nasty frizz puff on her head. I promise to try to write more tomorrow....

And, most nights in the past 10 days, I've been playing Facebook Tetris and Solitaire Blitz instead of writing blog entries. 

So Joy ...... it's OK. 

I absolve you.  :-)

When in doubt .... a song.

On Facebook this morning, my eye was caught by a post from a man about about my parents' age ... someone I've known since 1985, when he first directed me and my classmates in "Bye Bye Birdie" in the Cando Summer Arts program. Larry wrote:

"I'm old, I know, but this is still just an awesome piece of music."

It's a Gordon Lightfoot number from the early 60s about a bum watching a plane take off and feeling regret for a hard-living past. I could think of no good reason to post this song ... we did have heavy clouds earlier today, but the skies have cleared. I'm not making any imminent plane trips. I'm not craving drink and (at least at this moment this morning) I'm not filled with regret. I'm actually not even in a foul mood.

But I could think of no good reason not to post it either. That's some awesome guitar playing and some awesome harmony. It inexplicably makes me want to play it on repeat. And it was good to know Larry still has good taste.

Tired

(At the risk of revealing something I'll likely later regret, never having done that in 5 years of blogging of course) I confess that for the first time in the history of my financial-services career, I took a nap at work. During work. At my desk. While sitting up, with my hands on the keyboard.

In fact, I confess I took 2 naps .... about 5 minutes apiece, both in similar fashion. I was not totally asleep either time. But I was definitely resting my eyes. During the second one, I woke myself up with a little snore.

Yes, I am 39 years old and I napped at work.

Today I am tired, and I wish not to intrude on your joyous post-Easter thoughts with what might emerge from this brain on such a day.

Instead, I give you this:  a review in this coming week's New Yorker of the new book by Eric Klinenberg: “Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone."  A sample:

"At one point, Klinenberg suggests that living alone provides “restorative solitude”; it may be “exactly what we need to reconnect.” But most of the people he introduces seem neither especially restored nor vigorously connected. They are insecure, proud of their freedoms but hungry for contact, anxious, frisky, smug, occasionally scared—in short, they experience a mixture of emotions that many people, even those who do not live alone, are apt to recognize.

"Take, for example, Kimberly, a New Yorker who’s in the film business, and who underwent a sort of crisis when she found herself past thirty and living alone. She threw herself into her work, but at night she numbed herself with epic sessions of TV. “It took me a long time to figure out that it wasn’t gonna happen the way it happened in college,” she tells Klinenberg. “People didn’t just drop by.”

"Things changed when she made the decision to buy an apartment, committing to a future alone. She renovated, began hosting parties, went freelance, tried Internet dating, and made contact with Single Mothers by Choice, a support organization for unattached women hoping to raise a child. Was this self-realization or resignation? Kimberly confesses, “I didn’t want to hang curtains by myself. I’d always thought I would do it with a partner and a lover.” Yet autonomy as an ideal brought her happiness, she says, partly because it freed her from the shame of falling short."

This is a blog about living alone and the pains and various joys thereof.  Therefore, go forth and learn.

Then read this Tumblr, Text from Dog, and pee your pants.

Thanks.

Blogoliloquy: Boston! (and, we open...)

After walking the long route to work followed by a day preparing for quarter-end client reporting and a treadmill run and an orange juice and honey-roasted peanut supper and accompanying the first full run of the  hand-pounding musical that opens a month from today (that's 2 straight hours of JRB piano stylings, baby) and a half-hour nursing an Ultimat Mule (mmm, ginger beer....) and the saltiest french fries known to this city while waiting, I met Justin at Franklin Cafe Southie last night just before 11 so he could find room for post-rehearsal supper (direct quote when asked the last time he had eaten: "I know had breakfast and I think I might have had something about 4....") and a couple pints of Brooklyn Lager to unwind from the last rehearsal for the Boston blogs performance extravaganza he (naturally) conceived and wrote and directed and produced (and even re-hung the lights in a black box theatre just before the final run when the seating arrangement required unexpected readjustment) while doing things like having a full-time job in Manhattan that requires regular cross-country air travel and enjoying a lovely wife and 9-month-old son and moving from Plainfield to Jersey City and asking someone on Etsy to build him a kitchen table the new place and, hell, simply living in New Jersey and coming to Boston to direct and produce and hang lights for a show that he wrote and conceived when he also has an organ-playing gig on the Thursday after the Wednesday opening and and the Sunday morning after the Saturday close in, of course, New Jersey, and while we were unwinding early into this morning (did we just about close the place?) he was kind enough to say to me (exhausted and tipsy and over-sodiumed  and articulating the inertia of having lived in the same apartment for nearly 6 years and having the same job for almost 9 and going to the same church for more than 12)  that one of the things he most appreciates about me after nearly 10 years of solid friendship is that I have this way of "creating home" wherever I end up (including in this blog, which he has read from the beginning almost 5 years ago), to the point where maybe my inertia is simply not wanting to leave the comfort of something good and to some degree, that isn't the worst thing in the world, and I was reminded that the things I appreciate most about Justin are how he always finds a bigger picture in my smaller gripes, how he makes a big world feel manageable, and how he lives large and, even though I may kick and scream on the way, how he insists on trying to take me with him.

Thanks, friend. Break a leg.

Blogolioquy: boston! (teasers & tickets)

I give Justin a lot of credit.  He's read this blog from the beginning in 2008 and to assemble blogolioquy: boston! for Turnstyle Theatre Company, he went back and read a lot more of it.  This is while also reading years and years of entries of these blogs, too:

A Proper Bostonian:  Outpourings from an old-fashioned room in a historic neighborhood in the fairest city of a very blue state by a person who understands the importance of layer cake.

Dad Today:  for the big mysteries revealed in the small moments

Formula 457:   Things I would talk about over lunch or tea. If anyone ever took me out to lunch or tea…

How You have Wronged Me:    I may only be in my 20s, but much like my favorite muppets - Statler and Waldorf - I am a cynical, angry, curmudgeonly old man at heart. Chances are I do not like you. This blog tells a story. A story about how you have wronged me today.

Some Assembly Required:  He's no better than I am; he's just got a suit!

Check these folks out if you want to get up to speed on what to expect....mix of funny and serious and very, very locally specific.

Other answers to questions you didn't know you had about the show:

A)  The show's coming up next Wednesday through Saturday at the Boston Center for the Arts in their Plaza Black Box Theatre. It is indeed a high-level observance week for both Christians and Jews, but would you consider my special dispensation to observe Holy Week or Passover on 3 of 4 nights and spend the 4th in less serious contemplation?  Atheists and agnostics, you've got no excuse.

B) Tickets are $17.50 and can be purchased here. 

C) I might be there for opening night if I can blow out of my church choir rehearsal -- and for sure will be there Saturday at 8 p.m., if you are one of the (rare?) folks who reads this and has never met me.  (Fair warning: I am not in high-season bikini shape, nor will I be wearing one to the show.) 

D)  If you are a friend and curious about whether or not you might be featured unknowingly onstage, here's a few teasers about what Justin chose to include:

Midnight walk home from the Broadway T (August 2011)

No-handed bike ride on a warm September night (September 2010)

Argument with Bill over parking regulations (November 2009)

Running into an old flame at Whole Foods (August 2011)

Maundering over grocery shopping alone (January 2009)

Blogolioquy: boston!

Dear friendly blog readers:

I have a friend named Justin. 

He's a little crazy, but I love him.

(And I know he thinks exactly the same of me.)

Justin runs a theatre company

and likes to produce performance opportunities and experiences. 

And,

it is my solemn duty to inform you that

he is producing a show about blogs in Boston.  

He has excerpted work from 6 local blogs,

woven them together into acts,

and is directing a group of actors on stage to read them.

Because I have this friend named Justin who is does all this,
this blog is part of this production:

blogolioquy: boston!

When:  

Wednesday, April 4 through Saturday, April 7 - 7:30 p.m.

Where:

 Plaza Black Box Theatre at

Boston Center for the Arts, 539 Tremont Street

What:

Blog awesomeness. 

How: 

Ticket info TBD

Stay tuned for more details.

You won't want to miss them.

Best regards,

Karin

Other girls' (dating) lives

Since my dating life of late has been fairly static, what with MSF around (even if from afar), I fully acknowledge that said details of said dating life are also relatively nil.

So. Well.  This is the time, then, where I direct you to some awesome blogs of women who are writing about their dating lives:

Things Deb Loves .... sharing the nittiest of the nitty-gritty about first and second dates in lengthy, lengthy detail.   Warning:  bathroom humor and much exasperation.   Also, perhaps you have never heard of Freeganism before; read this and you will have.

All the Wrong Cards .... 3 women talk about a bevy of goods, bads, earlies, lates, OKC chats gone right.  The most recent entry contains a reference to a penis made of jello.  I kid you not.

Good Times with Jess ... a local bartender with a boyfriend, a vibrator, 30 pairs of underwear for a weekend ski trip, and a therapist  She's pithy, razor-sharp and overhears a lot of conversations.

Do, please, patronize these ladies' tales.

OKC: It works sometimes!

A couple weeks ago I expressed pleasure at the lovely coincidence of coincidence:   Student Driver found herself sharing a coffee table with one of her most faithful (and previously anonymous) readers. 

As you recall, it reminded me of this blog's foremost -- of several, mostly undocumented variations -- small-world story:  The Artist from The Western Suburbs having a poor date with me, telling his next OKC interest (that very evening) about our poor chemistry, said female acknowledging she was a fan of my blog .... and The Artist using it as a reason to suggest a date with her.

I'm notoriously poor at noticing comments that come more than a couple days after a post.  However, I was so pleased to just discover that, 5 days later, the most important person who could have weighed in on that post weighed in on that post:

"Hi Karin - I had to laugh at your favorite deja vu blog moment. I am the lady that you 'helped' the Artist get. We did not hit it off either but I am happy to say that I met a different lovely man on OKC and we've been married one year! Just a little happy ending to that story even though you don't know me :) ... " 

Hey Anonymous:   Woo-hoo!

Food for (Monday) thought

The Most E-Mailed Article from the New York Times when I logged in at work today, in true Monday-morning fashion, was the first-person essay,"Alone Again, Naturally."

(Subheading: "Why Men Can't Stand to Be Alone After a Divorce or Break-Up."   Accompanying photo: woman in 1950's-era headscarf, hands on the wheel of a convertible, chin up, mouth grinning.  Author:  Dominque Browning, 60-something divorced former magazine editor and essayist author of a book called "Slow Love," which is to "engage with the world in a considered, compassionate way, appreciating the miraculous beauty of everyday moments, and celebrating the interconnected nature of life.")

An excerpt, which focuses on a "revelation" the author had after slipping on her patio and cracking her tailbone:

"Most single women I know really love their lives.

Sometimes we suffer pangs of loneliness, sometimes we ache for the companionship of that mythic soul mate, but mostly we cherish our independence. We love doing whatever we want to do, when we want to do it.

Women alone eat breakfast at 11 if we feel like it, lunch at 3 and dinner never if that’s the way the day is winding down. Single women do not worry about cooking unless we want to. And we don’t want to unless we like to.

Single women love not having to get permission to spend our own money on a 10th pair of black boots or a painting or a wood stove.

We love not being judged, not being criticized, not being hemmed in. We love the give and take of making our own decisions. We love putting things down on a table knowing they will be there when we return. And eventually, we come to understand that there is no reason to curl up on “our” side of the bed while we sleep. We no longer have to take sides. We can sprawl across the expansive middle.

Single men could not care less about any of the above lifestyle features."

Later, Browning states: "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle."

Oh boy.

This is an opinion piece and Browning is opinionated ... and she's happy in her later-life singleness.  I related to her points on the benefits of independence .... but the article is prone to broad and relative overgeneralizations on gender differences. As an essayist she is paid to be provocative. Naturally, such bald statements about what single men want or don't want brought out vehement responses -- from both men and women -- to the point where the comments section was shut down. For example, from a Brooklynite named Fred:

"i'm certain i missed a lot of meaning and nuance here, but this is one of many stories i've seen in the last two years by female authors writing about how wonderful it is to be single or alone. but if its so great, why is there a market for articles about how great it is?  shouldnt everyone who is alone just know that? is there a benefit to preaching "alone-ness" to others, as if there's some sort of promised land to which they should aspire? or, maybe its not great, maybe its just one of many possible human conditions, and there is a need for us to explain it and thereby make it more acceptable...to ourselves. "a man needs marriage like a fish needs water", vs "women do not walk around alert for danger" and "a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle". sounds awfully bitter. where does the bitterness come from? and why the need to preach the gospel of alone-ness?"

Browning also writes a Slow Love Life blog .... where, in that meta way of this time in history, she analyzed reader response to the Times article -- which in and of itself engendered another level of discussion and response.  Her freedom to self-edit and known voice here seem to allow for greater nuance in conclusions -- and the admittance that, as we all know, no qualities are exclusively gender specific:

"Men are hard work. Women are hard work. (But that can be someone else's essay.) People are hard work. Relationships are hard work. They are wonderful work, too, when many things click along; the motivation is there when the nurturing is in balance. Someone made a point in the comments below that what I'm really talking about is the difference between people who give and people who take. We all fall along a spectrum, with some of us at either extreme; and temperamentally, the mix has to be right for the giver not to feel taken advantage of--or smothered, or the taker not to feel neglected. It is so simple, in a way, and so difficult in reality. Until that magic moment when it isn't hard, it is wonderful.

And I think that's what we all want. And often, we settle for less, because of fear of loneliness or fear of the unknown condition of aloneness.

Better to come to a relationship from a place of strength and security."

Hmm. Better. An apt assessment of what makes relationships work:  when the balance between giving and taking is agreed upon by both parties. The last line also resonated. In my interactions and discussions with MSF these last months, he often asserts that feeling safe, secure and loved within a relationship is really the crux for making it work. It's one of the reasons I like him and, yes, what truth. The times I have been unhappy in love -- in current situation but, of course, in countless others from my past -- have all in some way circled back to insecurity and indecisiveness; pinpointing that source has been hugely helpful in informing my reactions to the ups and downs.

Happy Monday, y'all!

Mulling singleness, longevity

Have I told y'all that before moving to Boston in 1999, I worked 4 years as the features reporter for the Pipestone County Star, in the small town of the same name in southwest Minnesota?   (Using the term y'all gives me away as a Midwesterner, right...?!) 

I'm sure I have.

My main beat at the Star was covering the robust performing arts scene, community organizations, dairy and pork and corn-n-soybean farmers, and the non-stop activities and recognitions at 3 elementaries and 1 high school.   Took endless photos of kids standing in rows, the community chorus with open mouths and hands outstretched, the Chamber of Commerce director shaking hands with new business owners.  Made lots of trips into barns for photos of pigs and cows.  One spring when the Star was down a sports reporter, I documented the track, tennis and golf teams' exploits and wickedly improved my skills as a sports-action photographer and writer.   It's where I began a personal column, Thinking Aloud, which started me writing in the stream-of-consciousness style that presaged the tack I'd eventually take in this blog.

I loved what I did in Pipestone, except for the ulcer-inducing school board meetings to raise taxes for a new facility, and I loved my life there.   But it was during the 3rd time through the same annual cycle of activities -- Homecoming, Christmas tree lightings, blizzard photos, Prom, the Watertower Festival, the Hiawatha Pageant features -- that I realized it might be time to explore different horizons.

And look where exploring got me.

This morning over my coffee, I came across a New York Times article titled, "In a Married World, Singles Struggle for Attention":

"Here’s a September celebration you probably didn’t know about: It’s National Single and Unmarried Americans Week."

I knew it sounded familiar, then realized it's because I, naturally, documented this week's occasion in September 2010.  It was a relief to find that I hadn't also documented it in 2008 and 2009.

Funny, when I saw the Times article this morning, the intent was to delve into the content of that blog entry by Tara Parker-Pope.  Specifically, how true these paragraphs rang:

"'There is this push for marriage in the straight community and in the gay community, essentially assuming that if you don’t get married there is something wrong with you,' says Naomi Gerstel, a sociologist at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst who has published a number of papers comparing the married and unmarried.

"'But a huge proportion of the population is unmarried, and the single population is only going to grow. At the same time, all the movement nationally is to offer benefits to those who are married, and that leaves single people dry.'


"Yet as she and other experts note, single people often contribute more to the community — because once people marry, they tend to put their energy and focus into their partners and their own families at the expense of friendships, community ties and extended families."

And these:

"The unmarried also tend to be more connected with siblings, nieces and nephews. And while married people have high rates of volunteerism when it comes to taking part in their children’s activities, unmarried people often are more connected to the community as a whole. About 1 in 5 unmarried people take part in volunteer work like teaching, coaching other people’s children, raising money for charities and distributing or serving food.

"Unmarried people are more likely to visit with neighbors. And never-married women are more likely than married women to sign petitions and go to political gatherings, according to Dr. Gerstel."

And these:

"The pressure to marry is particularly strong for women. A 2009 study by researchers at the University of Missouri and Texas Tech University carried the title “I’m a Loser, I’m Not Married, Let’s Just All Look at Me.” The researchers conducted 32 interviews with middle-class women in their 30s who felt stigmatized by the fact that they had never married.

" 'These were very successful women in their careers and their lives, yet almost all of them felt bad about not being married, like they were letting someone down,' said Lawrence Ganong, a chairman of human development and family studies at the University of Missouri.

"'If a person is happy being single,' he said, 'then we should support that as well."

Anyway. I'm pretty OK with being single in the city ... it has its benefits.  Other than my wistful 93-y-old Grandma, no one is pressuring me to get married.  I'll probably still go to political gatherings this season as long as my quease-factor stays in check.  And it's a good article (thank you, Tara, who is also a marathon runner).   Since I've now just quoted about half of it, feel free to decide, without my input, how you might feel about the conclusions.

I, on the other hand, have been freshly reminded of the time I have put into this blog -- 870 posts and 3.5 spins through the news cycle -- and am seriously wondering if it is time to explore different horizons.

Statistical diversion

Everytime someone in Boston hears for the first time that I'm from North Dakota, he or she inevitably follows with a crack about awful weather.  I always respond that it really isn't that much worse, just more intense and longer-lasting.

But I now have to respectfully disagree with my own past assessment.  Between Montana snowmelt and a wet spring, flood conditions are pretty cruelly kicking North Dakota's ass.

First, the Devils Lake region, a crisis years in the making that is displacing thousands of farmers. Then Bismarck's torture-drip of Garrison Dam releases, thanks to obscene snowmelt in Montana, allowing the Missouri river to cover the southern half the city through the summer. Then, at this very moment, Minot is experiencing levee breaches on the Souris River expected to inundate the homes of over 10,000 residents (including a number of friends and schoolmates); a full quarter of the city has been mandatorily evacuated.

Holy crap.

(And like Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that. Except that North Dakotans are notoriously community-minded and stubborn and, once banded, will soon be kicking the flood's ass. I have no doubt.)

Because anything I write today will be trite in light of this catastrophe, it seems the perfect day to bring up the fact that I this week -- after 3 years and 825 posts -- discovered the "stats" tab of this here blog: it essentially tells me what pages are most clicked on and from what referrering websites the clickers come. I can see in a day, in a week, in a month, or for "all-time," the most popular individual posts.

So. 

The All-Time Top-5 Most-Clicked Single in the City posts (in ascending order) are:

5) Friday (or a short tale in 19 scenes) -- 03/19/2011  In which I go to Symphony Hall in my yoga pants. And get ditched by an accountant.

4) The cliché of a Monday -- 11/09/2009    This was one of my many undistinguished gripe-fests, ending with a ode to Boston Public Works for getting the Southie Christmas tree stand out 2 months in advance. I can't figure out why it would ever attract a second reading, unless the BPW has it linked to their employee website?

3) Just a Couple Girls Cross-Posting -- 12/06/2010   Not surprised at this one because it involves traffic from my cross-posting-friend's blog which has a sizable readership of its own. It also includes, I think, the only time I've used the word "douchebag" in a sentence.

2)  Rules for Going out in Southie on a Tuesday --- 05/09/2009   Owing to my own vanity, this could be (by far and away) the next most popular (500 separate hits!) because it involves a photo of my legs in heels and pantyhose. But using that logic, why does the finale of the Bikini Challenge, with its far more revealing pose, not even rate in the top 50? The appeal of this one is also a mystery ..... if you're one of the people clicking on it a lot, let me know why!
 
1) BBC 10: Ode to Storrow -- 03/05/2011    What can I say? When a post gets picked up by The Universal Hub, 677 people read it.

Another reason I'm glad to not be on Twitter...

Since you can't open any website in the Western world this week without reading about Anthony Weiner, the Congressman from New York and his body photos (naked chest with no head as a pick-up technique, of course!) and his wronged wife and now-wronged political career ....

.... and this here blog focuses on body photos and silly men and wronged women and how politics could (or so far, has not) save my dating life ....

I don't feel strongly on the subject of this man and his life and his ability to be in Congress, truly. This is not because he's a Democrat and I'm mad because I don't want Democrats to be caught being so patently stupid. It's my conviction, cliched as it is, that there are more important things than the story of a man sending sex messages to a woman not his wife and lying about it, as if it doesn't happen 5 million times a day, in patently more tasteless and debasing ways.

In fact, on Monday when breaking news flashes began popping about the press conference where he admitted to his indiscretions, I just wanted it all to go away. I managed to avoid reading about it at all until yesterday, when every pundit with a command of English had something to say, and curiosity overcame reticence. In doing so I came across Salon.com blogger Glenn Greenwald -- who I also usually avoid because of his general over-the-topness, despite obvious intelligence -- and was glad I did, because I found his take on it (first paragraph below) summing up well my current opinion:

"There are few things more sickening -- or revealing -- to behold than a D.C. sex scandal. Huge numbers of people prance around flamboyantly condemning behavior in which they themselves routinely engage. Media stars contrive all sorts of high-minded justifications for luxuriating in every last dirty detail, when nothing is more obvious than that their only real interest is vicarious titillation. Reporters who would never dare challenge powerful political figures who torture, illegally eavesdrop, wage illegal wars or feed at the trough of sleazy legalized bribery suddenly walk upright -- like proud peacocks with their feathers extended -- pretending to be hard-core adversarial journalists as they collectively kick a sexually humiliated figure stripped of all importance. The ritual is as nauseating as it is predictable."

It plays well into my opinion that public figures never do well to kick other public figures; it leaves them baldly open to ridicule when they, too, are found to have sinned. The folks all excited about kicking Weiner out of a job (see: Dems and Repubs and media figures alike who let another Congressional Rep, Michelle Bachmann, run around spouting nonsense daily, unchecked) should have to come clean about their own extracurricular sex lives. If only all our personal foibles were so harshly dissected as this one ... and if politicians were routinely held accountable for actions that actually affect anyone besides the people directly involved.  Weiner has been serving the constitutents of NYC in Congress for 12 years .... New York City, folks ... and this is the only thing he can be accused of doing that warrants resignation?

My friend Jodi posted on Facebook today yet another great take -- from Undecided, a blog written by a friend in Santa Barbara, which also cites a compelling Time magazine article -- expressing amazement at that Weiner's chest and jockey shorts get more attention than broader issues of sexism:

"If this were the sort of country where the women of Yale and Walmart were given as much play as Weiner’s weiner, where corporate pay–and maternity–policy demonstrated that women were valued, well, I wonder if powerful men–and the women they sext–would behave any differently. And I wonder this, too: What’s it going to take, to make substance as sexy as scandal?"

For a more humorous take, check out TV My Wife Watches, where I knew Evan would have to weigh in on something both media and chest-related .... even though he is usually discussing women's chests. He hired a guest blogger to dissect Weiner's indiscretions in his "Wednesday's Wifey" feature, and as a long-time online dater, I couldn't help but agree with her incredulity:

"Many of his online girlfriends have confirmed that their cyber-relationships started off with simple conversation starters like 'you’re hot' or 'wow what a stud.'

"Is that honestly all it takes to seduce a man!? I’ve been trying to figure out men for SO LONG. A little bit of leg but not too much. Let him know you’re smart but also a little vulnerable. When he walks you home, just pop your nipple out for a second. Easy on the fart jokes. And all this time, the only thing I've ever had to do is say 'Wow, you're hot'!?"

And finally: this.

Anyway. Probably enough discussion of a subject I didn't think warranted discussion.

Outlandish?

I'm wondering tonight if I'm the only blogger out here who feels trite and outlandish writing about things like

road races
or
peanut butter
or
(frankly unreasonable)
sadness in learning C-2 is leaving Boston for good

with a news week including

Japan
and
Libya
and
Wisconsin
and
Chinatown bus crashes
and
Michelle Bachmann
and
Spiderman.

Sometimes
self-reflection
just feels....
....well...
too damn
self-reflective
for its
own good.

Day 13 of 31: 3.10 miles

March Total: 21.5

2011 Total: 124.21

Post #666

I'm hardly superstitious.

(Other than being that person who after knocking over the salt shaker -- which happened a lot working 6 years in the food service industry -- throws a couple spilled grains over each shoulder, unable to remember which is the correct shoulder.  And I don't walk under ladders.  Or pass a penny in the street.)

But when I saw the post number while getting ready to upload a map from Saturday's Long Run #15 (Post #667, coming soon), I could not associate a 20-mile run after which my legs ached like the devil with a number that, according to Google, means:

a) The name of the devil, as spoken in Revelation 13:17-18.

b) The mark of the beast who has 7 heads and 10 horns, and if you "worship him and receive his mark will receive the complete wrath of God."  And the beast is another name for the Antichrist.

c) Home of the star constellation Draconis (the Dragon, or Serpent), which lies above the latitude of 66.6 degrees.

I'm actually a little afraid that I just ran a Google search on it and clicked on a bunch of related websites.

Perhaps my resident Bible Scholar (yes, you, Joshua, again) would be willing to comment on if my fears are at all justified .... or at least tell me if referencing 666 websites will draw a different crowd of readers and commenters to this space .....

D = 5C = 10L = 50X = 500I

Today is Single in the City Blog Post #500.

(One benefit of personal drama: it makes you forget about the big picture. It didn't occur to me until this morning, on the #9, that I was facing an anniversary I hadn't in the least contemplated. Which meant I don't get to stress over it in a I-haven't-yet-done-my-2009-Christmas-cards-fashion. Now that's personal progress.)

It seems a good moment to reflect briefly on what I've taken away from 22 months of self-reflection:

1) I would greatly benefit from strings for my mittens.

2) My nephew is now and will probably always be better looking than any of the men I've dated.

Henry (18 mos.) in Florida, February 2010

3) I will probably never again have as nice of a body as I did on my 36th birthday. I'm still sad about this.

4) My time-management skills are eroding every day.

5) Self-challenges with deadlines have been by the far the most effective way at getting me to eat better, exercise better, date better, and write this blog. But not, as you well know, sleep better. That might be the lifelong rock in my shoe.

6) Politics have not yet saved my dating life and, now firmly entrenched in my friend Mike's campaign for Massachusetts State Rep, wonder if I should still be asking the question.

7) I have more boy friends than girl friends and wonder if that has anything to do with the fact that I'm still single.

8) OKC has been wonderful. OKC has been a time suck. OKC has introduced me to several of the more interesting people I'll ever meet. Perhaps it's OK that I signed up.

9) I've done well to write the first female dating blog that doesn't consistently reference Jane Austen novels. Yet. Just 2 weeks ago I picked up Sense and Sensibility for the first time. I can see I am forever attracted to Willoughbys and have no time for Colonel Brandons. I'm well aware it took a near-death fever illness for Marianne Dashwood to see the light. I've been wondering lately what it will take for me.

10) I may be still be single, but I'm a better date than I was 500 blog entries ago. I hope.

Blogger's Bible: When in Doubt, Sleep

Tonight was a night off from running, from rehearsing, from working... although it, truly, didn't feel like a night off.

Tax returns e-filed at 9:03 p.m. Giving the IRS access to my checking account so they can extract 100s of dollars is mentally fatiguing.

Brief chat with Audacious Man, heading out of town for several days. Longer chat with Young Scientist about running, past lovers, if we will ever become lovers , etc. Both situations are trending positive....although the future potential with either man is murky for the moment. Sigh.

To Shaw's Market at 10:30 for peppers and onions and organic green leaf lettuce and chicken tenderloins to take home and cook to, perhaps, reverse the effects of eating all 24 cookies from a package of Thin Mints after rehearsal last night. Word of advice to those who might try to emulate this feat: sugar shock will stay in your system for more than 24 hours. I promise.

And have I mentioned my nose? Or my head? Or my throat, or any other bodily place that secretes ridiculous, endless quantities of gunk that simultaneously block blood flow to the head, sound to the ears and air flow, period? Breathing should not be this difficult.

Have I earned the right to blog no further and to sleep.....such sweet sleep?

Damn straight.

(If and when the Tylenol Cold Medicine does its job, that is....)