Tips for Southerners on Surviving New England Winters

This mixtape is brilliant. Download it free here.

In case you haven't heard, Boston sucks during the winter. How much does it suck? Almost as much suck as Shaq is awesome.


Boston's Shaq-o-metric snow-measurement system

Yep, that's 60+ inches of suck already this winter, with more falling as I type this. Even my devotion to Shaq is not enough to shake my long-established skepticism of New England winters.

So how is this sun-ripened Georgia peach dealing with her first winter in the frosty hinterlands of Massachusetts? Well, I have a few tips for all y'all on how to survive this nonsense.

#1: BUY A GIANT COAT

That pert little wool peacoat you've always worn straight through the winter? That's Aprilwear up here, pahdnah. Head to Land's End or Eddie Bauer or one of those other outdoorsy stores that choked your mailbox with catalogs straight through the 90s and find you a big, warm down coat.

I went with this one from Land's End, and it is so warm that I could wear it with nothing else under it and be comfy all winter long:



I also urge you to consider buying 2 or 3 subzero sleeping bags and having a tailor fashion them into a sort of hyper-warm adult snow onesie.


#2: CHEER YOURSELF UP WITH SOME GOOFY ACCESSORIES

Nothing says EFF YOU, SNOW like a pair of colorful wellies. I bought these ugly red and yellow ones from Marc Jacobs for a mere $28. I can tell the snow is already offended.



And hey, you've gone this far! Why not go further?


Thanks Racked

Take a cue from fellow FHS alum Ke$ha and put some kittie ears on your hat.


#3: GET A S.A.D. LAMP

It's totally just as good as the sun.




#4: GO ON VACATION

Don't try to fight it. Just buy a plane ticket to somewhere, anywhere warmer and more hospitable. I hear Chernobyl is lovely this time of year.

...Assuming your plane can take off.




#5: GET A GYM MEMBERSHIP

There are only two places in the whole city that feel like the South during a Boston winter. One is your shower and the other is your local gym.

Listen, listen. I know you're a Southerner and your idea of a vigorous workout is fishing the last RC Cola out of the cooler. Just trust me. Even if you never burn a single calorie, it is worth the monthly membership fee just to go bask in the 80 degree heat and 95% humidity. It's sweaty and smelly and if you bring your own bucket of chicken it basically feels like home.


#6: BE WILLING TO TRY SOME WINTER SPORTS

I mean, just check out this video of me and Nick and our friend James tearing it up skiing and snowboarding at Nashoba Valley:




#7: TAKE YOUR VITAMINS

Since you haven't felt sunlight on your skin since September, it's time to start taking some Vitamins. Vitamin D will help you feel less like a zombie. Now I finally have some use for the 200 bottles of Vitamin D I bought at Publix last year!


#8: GET AN APARTMENT WITH HEAT INCLUDED

This is the most valuable advice I got before I moved to Boston. We have free radiator heat in our apartment and THANK GOODNESS. Our apartment is so warm that we--no joke--sleep with the window partially open so we don't suffocate.


#9: STAY WARM WITH HAPPY MEMORIES OF THE SOUTH

When all else fails, close your eyes and go back to your happy place: The South. For me, that will entail FINALLY finishing my blog series on our amazing Southern summertime road trip. Catch up with the entries here:

one: we're on the road to nowhere
two: "Spectacles in the Surf: Seeing and Not Seeing on the DePalma Family Vacation"
three: miles covered
four: you got a fast car: drivin through the mountains

DISCUSSION QUESTION: How do you beat the winter blues?

goodbye, Boudreaux dog

I have been avoiding this. I don't want to put this into words. It makes it more real.

Our Boudreaux dog was hit by a car on December 30th out at Nick's family farm in Tennessee. He was still alive when the DePalmas scooped him up and took him to the vet, but he didn't survive the ride over. He died peacefully in his NeNe's arms, wrapped in his favorite blankie. We built him a wooden casket and buried him on the DePalma's farm, his favorite place on earth. We sowed the freshly turned dirt with a thousand tears. Two days later, we returned to Boston with the heaviest of hearts, a family of four now a family of three.

We miss him every day. The hardest moment is sliding our keys in the lock. The deafening silence in place of a jingling collar.

Boozie's death only took a moment. What really matters is his life.


taken December 25 2010

Boudreaux Jenkins DePalma began his life with us on January 3 2009. Nick and I had been looking for a dog for ages with no luck. Boo was the first dog in the first cage at the Atlanta Humane Society, trembling uncontrollably with a cocked ear. We took him outside to get to know him and he ran in blinding circles, barely interacting with us. I was kind of skeptical but Nick just knew. This was our dog. He had been in the shelter before--brought in as a stray and adopted by a family the fall before. He had been returned on Christmas Eve. The family said he was too much of a handful. A handful he was. Barely an hour later, we were driving home with him.

Everyone thinks their dog is the best dog in the world. Ours actually was. He ran as fast as the wind, but he snuggled like a baby, limp as a ragdoll in your arms. He wanted to talk to us so much that he'd sing out in frustrated syllables, mimicking our conversations. He caught birds out of the air while leashed on a walk, not once, but twice. He was the king of the dog park, always setting in motion a massive all-dogs-included chase. Some of his toes were black, and the others were pink. He looked handsome in his red collar--always a red collar. He liked running, chasing squirrels, walkies, frisbees, potato chips, chewies, and most of all, his mom and dad.

When Julia was taking Goosey into the shop for an estimate after her run-in with a lawncare truck, she brought Boozie with her. The folks in the auto shop circled around Boozie, patting him and admiring his handsome face. One old man remarked Well, isn't he just better than a person? He was. Our baby. Our little mung bean.

Boudreaux leaves behind his devastated mother and father, his indifferent catbrother Moppy, both sets of adoring grandparents, and a loving extended family. Our little nephew Fuzzy in particular had a very special connection with our little black and white pup. Boozie also leaves his best friends Gilbert, Phineas, Felix, and Felix.

We miss you so much, little one. We can't believe you're gone.



Boudreaux Jenkins DePalma
Loving Pupdog
Born July 4 2007
Died January 30 2010
Forever Our Little One

Discussion Quesion: Talk with me about all the pets you've loved and lost.

a total loss

This will be important later.

The Spruce Goose came into our lives during the long winter of 1998. My mother made the questionable decision to spend her birthday weekend chaperoning our yearly Forensics team trip to Gatlinburg, TN, and when we returned home, Mama’s beloved green 1995 Mazda 626 “Cindy” (so named for our favorite supermodel) had been replaced with a big silver-blue-grey luxury sedan. Our new 1998 Toyota Avalon was big, wide, smooth, and fast—so abrupt in accelerating that we came to call the car “Goosey.” Over the years, I formalized her name to “The Spruce Goose,” after Howard Hughes’ massive flying boat. My massive flying boat.


just look at that badonkadonk

Mama drove Goosey for seven easy years. She cruised to the grocery store or Cool Springs a few times a week, but never much more than that. By 2005, Goosey still looked brand new. That summer, I bought Goosey from my parents for a few grand and brought her out to Texas to start my new life in Austin.

Goosey no longer lived the life of luxury to which she was accustomed. I drove Goosey hard over the pockmarked Austin roads. I scraped against brick walls and scuffed the bumper on other cars. Goosey was the victim of her first hit-and-run in a coffee shop parking lot. She had her front windshield smashed by an errant rock thrown up by a lawn mower at my apartment complex. She took flight as I tried to turn off a Texas highway into a parking lot on my way to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, flattening a stop sign en route and coming to rest perfectly within the lines of an empty parking spot. As her front driver’s side hubcap rolled away in silence, half the town flooded out of stores and homes to see if I was okay. I was. And so was Goosey. I took her straight on to New Orleans and back again.

Goosey’s been totaled at least twice before. In 2006, I got distracted while careening down a one-lane road near the house I grew up in and drove off the road and straight into a historical landmark. I shouldn’t go into too much detail, since it’s probably very much against the law to destroy historical landmarks, even accidentally, but suffice it to say that I did my part in breaking down 10 to 12 feet of the Walls of Oppression. The entire passenger side of my car was unspeakably mangled. The insurance elected to fix my beloved car, for reasons I still don’t understand.



In 2007, Nick and I were driving a packed-full Goosey to our storage unit in Austin when a teenage girl crossed three lanes of traffic to turn right and slammed into us, dragging us with her through the turn. We were deep into our first listen of the new T. I. album, and we did not miss a single beat of our enthusiastic car-dancing as we were dragged 20 or so yards down the street. I hollered at the girl when we got out of the car. Nick went across the street and bought her a Gatorade. My insurance fixed my car again and we rejoiced. However, I can never hear "You Know What It Is" without remembering the fateful first time we heard it.

Goosey’s had all kinds of adventures my insurance company doesn’t even know about. Goosey was our tour guide for our massive Southern road trip this summer, carrying us 4000+ miles in a little over a month.

She rode on two boats in North Carolina. She climbed the Smokey Mountains, got sand between her treads at the Outer Banks, and endured the soggy days and nights in Jefferson National Forest.







At Transformus, she was parked in a meadow on a hill for the long weekend. It rained and rained and rained and the cars on the hill slid down the muddy slope like toys. It took half a dozen attempts to get her unstuck—two of the tow trucks brave enough to try ended up getting towed themselves. Finally a man who can only be described as an angry mountain ginger in a kilt got behind the wheel and sledded Goosey General Lee–style down the muddy hillside. Nick and I screamed out in victory until our throats were raw. Goosey emerged unscathed and fondued in mud.

I’ve always attributed my car’s unlikely ability to emerge victorious over collisions to my baby doll head. Nick bought a number of dismembered vintage baby dolls at an estate sale in Austin just before we moved to Atlanta, for reasons that are still somewhat unclear to me. On the drive home, I impulsively stuck one of the baby doll heads between the dashboard and the windshield.


apotropaic baby head

I immediately felt safer, like the baby doll head was helping me watch the road. She’s been there ever since, guiding the way on our road trips like a mermaid figurehead on a ship. Sometimes I think Nick and I are the only ones who like it. I’ve been pulled over by cops for no other reason than they wanted to tell me my doll was creepy. But my doll head keeps me safe, so I don’t care.


from our summer roadtrip

At least…until a few weeks ago. My dear friend Julia borrowed my car to do me a favor and ran over a tool that fell off a lawn care truck. The damage is entirely cosmetic—the car still runs fine—but my insurance just informed me this morning that the car has been deemed a total loss. After all the daring escapes and brushes with death, a small superficial wound has spelled the end of my Goosey Girl. I guess 1998 Toyota Avalons don’t go for much these days. I haven’t spoken to the adjustor yet, so I am still holding onto the hope that somehow Goosey will get fixed in the next ten days and will be able to carry us home for Christmas. But realistically, I might have to say goodbye to my girl soon. So let’s all raise a glass to my Goosey girl and the good times we’ve had.



Discussion Question:
Have you ever loved a car?

An Open Letter to Shaq

Dear Shaq,

I have followed your career since I was a little girl. I was watching the draft with my dad that day in 1992 when you got first overall pick and became one of the Orlando Magic. I adored you--a giant handsome man with a big smile and a rhyming name.

Wikipedia tells me that you spent much of the summer of 92 learning some moves from Magic Johnson.



Magic was my love. I thought he was the most gorgeous man I had ever seen.

I liked to pretend that Magic Johnson was my boyfriend, but I liked to pretend that you were my friend. I thought it would be fun to hang out with you. I thought we could play some hoops and you'd lift me up to the rim so I could dunk like you.

Fast forward nearly twenty years. You're still delighting me. You're making me laugh on Twitter. You're performing straight-up brilliant freestyle raps dissing Kobe Bryant. And recently, you did the best thing yet.



That's it, Shaq. We need to be best friends.

We finally live in the same city. I just moved to Boston too. Do you like the cold weather? I do not like the cold weather.

We have a lot in common. I've lived in Louisiana and Texas too. I also like to get drunk and freestyle rap, but I'm not nearly as good as you. And when I was a kid I was one of the tallest kids in my class, so I totally know how it feels to be you.



I like to make silly videos too. I have an idea for your next one. It should feature me, you, and Snoop Dogg. I feel like he's really the perfect person to round out our friend group. You can dress up as the female vocalist of your choice, Snoop Dogg can dress as a Sesame Street Character,



and I'll dress as a cat.



I'm always a cat.

We can do a passionate lip synch to some old school Janet Jackson in the backseat of whatever enormous car you happen to be riding in that day. I'll even let you pick the song.

Or if you've had enough of dressing up, you can come to my house and I'll fix some New Orleans-style barbeque shrimp for you and me and my husband, Nick. He's pretty cool too--you'll like him. I have to warn you though, our apartment is pretty small.

So anyway, hit me up on Twitter if you want to hang out some time--I'm @quidquidkatie. I'm pretty busy with my new job, and as I understand it, you are too, but I'm sure we can find some time.

Go Celtics!
-Katie

---

Discussion Question:
Who are your imaginary celebrity bffs?

didn't roll off the cabbage truck yesterday

Photo from Awkward Family Photos

Like every good 1980s girl, I had a Cabbage Patch Kid or two. I loved them--yarn hair, creepily vacant eyes, tattooed asses and all. But I never stopped to wonder where they came from.

There is actually an unnecessarily complex mythology surrounding the origins of the franchise. I won't attempt to summarize but suffice it to say that it involves a ten-year-old boy starting an orphanage to save the Cabbage Patch Kids from slave labor in a gold mine. However, what I'm talking about here is an even more improbable creation story. And this creation story is true.

In northern Georgia, there is a small town called Cleveland. In this town, there is a magical place.


Babyland General Hospital,
birthplace of Cabbage Patch Kids


Sort of like Tara...okay not really.

Yes, Babyland General Hospital is the birthing, nursery, and adoption center for Cabbage Patch Kids. You can go for free and see a Cabbage Patch Kid being born.

WHAT

How I went virtually my entire life without knowing this fact is beyond me.

But wait, you are no doubt saying to yourself. How exactly is a Cabbage Patch Kid born?

I'm glad you asked. I'm going to turn it over to the poorly written Wikipedia article for a moment.

Dolls are "birthed" every hour during business hours in a procedure during which one of the "LPN's" (Licensed Patch Nurse) assists the Magic Crystal Tree in producing each doll. When the intercom announces that a Mother Cabbage is in labor, a nurse hurries to get ready for delivery of a new Cabbage Patch baby. With the nurse are the pink and blue bunnybees that pollinate the kids with crystals, determining if the newborn is a boy [blue crystal] or girl [pink crystal]. The nurse comments on how much the Tree is dilated and injects with "Imagicillin," an "experimental but highly recommended" drug. If the need arises, a "C-section" or "Cabbage section" may be administered....A full-featured Intensive Care Unit is in place to handle premature births and otherwise unhealthy newborns.


The Magic Crystal Tree and Mother Cabbage, from whom all Cabbage Patch Kids flow

So some rabbit-bee creatures fertilize some cabbages and then a magic crystal tree gives birth to some human children with the help of a nurse? And the cabbages get shot up with an experimental drug? I can't believe I'm saying this but this is better than Teen Mom.

Let's see the blessed event unfold for ourselves:


I...can't even

As far as I'm concerned, the greatest horror in all of this is the names. Cabbage Patch Kids have the least euphonious names ever. If you go to www.cabbagepatchkids.com you can see an ever-refreshing slideshow of birth announcements.


Wait...she was born with pigtails?

ACTUAL CABBAGE PATCH KID NAMES:
Austin Jerri
Doreen Jillaine
Zena Jordyn
Tammy Betsy
Jaylee Derek
Grady Damien
Buck Clay
Gwynyth Kimber
Glendonn Ragan (A FEMALE NAME)
Garrison Dusty
Jaidyn Celia

And finally, bleak vision of the future:




What if this is what happens to bad people when they die?

This post is missing a huge shoutout to Mary Nell, who is responsible for alerting me to the existence of Babyland General Hospital. Once my disbelief gave way, we discovered via a quick Google search that someone out there had gone and done the most brilliant thing ever:





Kudos.

Discussion Question:
Can you cobble together even one respectable name out of the names listed above?

Tips for Living in a Tiny Apartment

This song came on the radio last night and I nearly knocked over my chair in my eagerness to turn the volume up. Hey, want to know how I got that awesome embedded Big Pun YouTube to start at a specific point in the video? Super-easy HTML tutorial here.


Nick and I have lived in our fair share of tiny apartments. There was our little shoebox on San Gabriel in Austin--our first apartment together. It was really only big enough for one person, so Nick put most of his stuff in storage and moved in with little more than a suitcase. And then there was our itty bitty place in Midtown Atlanta a couple of years ago. The oven and fridge were sort of whimsically shrunken, and there was no door on the bedroom. Oh, the joys of renting.

We're now getting comfortably settled into what is probably the smallest of the three tiny shoeboxes we have inhabited. I figure our 2+ years experience with surviving in close quarters with two grown adults, a hyper dog, and a demanding cat has got to count for something. So I thought I'd try to impart a little wisdom about surviving in less than 500 square feet.


#1A: GET RID OF ALL YOUR BIG FURNITURE*
*You can keep your bed.

So long, ugly green chair.


The Goodwill did not accept ugly green chair. I was really quite offended.

So long, giant red vinyl couch. So long, coffee table, bedside table, dresser, desks, end tables, and book cases! Up to my parents' garage you go, heirloom dining table!

#1B:...AND REPLACE IT WITH MINIATURE VERSIONS FROM IKEA


IKEA Ingo dining table ($69.99) and 4 IKEA Ivar chairs ($19.99 each)


IKEA Laiva TV Stand, $20


IKEA Laiva Desk, $20


#2: NO SPACE IS TOO SMALL TO BE USEFUL

Like...above the kitchen cabinets!



Or...below the ottoman!



Or...that tiny section of wall! Looks big enough for a broom to me.




#3 REPURPOSE YOUR BELONGINGS

A drinking glass becomes a dainty container for your makeup brushes.



Your knickknack rack becomes an out-of-the way place to stash your makeup.



And who needs a coffee table with a centerpiece when you have a beat-up army trunk and a salad bowl from your wedding registry?




#4: HOOKS, HOOKS, HOOKS!







If it was good enough for the Shakers, it's good enough for you.




#5: KEEP THINGS FLEXIBLE

It's all about being modular, man. Think you don't have room for a guest room, a dining room, and a living room? Sure you do.



In this photo, it's configured like a living room. Push the trunk aside, fold out the futon, and you've got a guest room! Or push the trunk aside, pull the dining table and chairs out into the center of the room, and you've got a freakin banquet hall! It's like HOGGWARTS, dude.



...okay, almost like Hoggwarts.


The last rule is the most important.

#6: BE SURE YOU REALLY, REALLY LIKE YOUR ROOMMATE.

Discussion question: Have you ever lived in a tiny place? Do you have any tips to share?

check out more pics of our tiny apartment on my Flickr

An Editor's First E-book*

* I think e-book is the nerdiest spelling since e-mail but I do whatever Merriam Webster tells me. ...generally.



Olsen Twins, chopped and screwed.


Well, ladies and gentlemen, I read my first e-book this weekend.

My interest in e-books is well-documented. I love to talk peoples' ears off about the endless possibilities of digital publishing, but I was starting to feel like I was all talk. What if reading an e-book was just totally lame? How could I make such sweeping statements about the future of the publishing industry without actually experiencing an e-book firsthand?

My homegirl Serenity Gerbman recommended a book called Room (hardback here and Kindle version here) on her Facebook wall a few weeks ago. She called it her fiction pick of the year so far, which is very high praise from a well-read lady like Serenity.

I stopped by a bookstore to check it out. It's pretty new, so it's not out in paperback yet. Having approximately .5 inches of available space left in one's tiny shoebox apartment does not make a person want to stock up on hardcover novels. And anyway, it cost $25, which is just more than I can spend on a book right now. I put the book back on its stand and walked away with a sigh.

Nick got a sweet iPad for his studies at MIT, and we're both in love with it. On Saturday morning, curled up in bed in my pjs, I had a brilliant idea. I grabbed Nick's iPad, opened the Kindle app, and moments later, I was reading Room.

The premise is simple and intriguing: Jack and his mother have been locked in a room for all of Jack's life. Just like any good episode of Law and Order: SVU, the story is RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES, very clearly inspired by the abduction and rescue of Jaycee Lee Dugard. I have a little obsession with stories about feral children and children in captivity. Have you read this incredible article about Dani, a little girl in Florida who was neglected and confined to a room for most of her life?

I could not put this book down. I read it in two days in just a few sittings. It's narrated from Jack's perspective, and his gaze is unflinching. I cannot recommend it enough.

I hardly noticed that I wasn't reading a regular book. Nick has an iPad case with a cover that flips open just like a book, so it felt like a book in my hands. So much so that I kept reaching with my thumb and forefinger to turn the page. No eyestrain. Delightful.

The iPad Kindle app allows you to touch any word in the text and get a dictionary definition. Can you imagine what a learning tool that must be for younger readers? This feature helps me understand how interactive e-books could be. Classicists, imagine a dynamic Perseus-style text for reading. Social networkers, imagine discussing an interesting book with people from all over the world from inside the text itself. Kids, imagine reading texts above your reading level with effortless aplomb.

This is all well and good, but there's one test every reading platform must pass: can I read it in the bathtub?



The answer is a resounding YES. Nick, I'm sorry I took your fancy new toy in the bathtub.

...actually, I'm not.



Discussion Question [two-parter]:
A: Have you embraced e-books? Do you think the experience is comparable to reading a traditional book?
B: What is the funniest part of the "Gimme Pizza" video above? Please cite specific moments.