the more i delve into learning about theories, history, ancient
cultures, evolution, neuroscience, the way our bodies work, nature,
and so many more topics, all to better understand the practice of
massage, i am continually intrigued. although organizing my thoughts
and collected information continues to overwhelm me, i can't seem to
stop learning more. as a facebook member, i admit that i am not a
frequent visitor. but when i visited recently, i found this:

http://www.lindseyboss.com/?page_id=74

and i thank the ultimate reason why i know this person, which is
trader joe's. it is so great. continue the search, have fun during
the travels, and take the time to feel those emotions. they might
just be telling you something.

Jen Hernandez
Licensed Massage Therapist
OMBE
551 Boylston Street, 4th Floor
Boston, MA 02116
617.909.9419
www.ombecenter.com

so awesome.

 http://www.themeatrix.com/

http://www.storyofstuff.org/

go ahead, keep singing. i know mariah is in your head now. it's ok,
i'll give you a minute.

i really did meet a hero today. he came into work and immediately
asked me if he looked 85. because he was 85. there were few wrinkles
on his face, so of course, i wouldn't have guessed 85. he can do 25
push ups with one arm. he did that many this morning. and 50 sit
ups. then he started hitting his stomach with his fist, saying 'hard
as a board, hard as a board.'

then he tells me he's a real hero. he earned 3 bronze medals as well
as a purple heart in World War II. awesome!!! he didn't want to get
into how he earned these medals, there were too many people around. i
hope he comes in again.

saturday morning, early, 7am. i am awake because i'm a 5 year old and
rise at dawn and go to bed at dusk. i go to the kitchen to make
coffee, return to the bedroom. todd is in the bathroom. directly
outside the sliding glass door, there it is. a bloody, furry tangled
body. WHAT THE F!?!?!?!?!

i yell. loud. there is emergence from the bathroom, and we are both
kind of grossed out, kind of excited. i vomitted in my mouth a
little.

it is believed to be a dead squirrel. what mangled it? why didn't we
hear the struggle? what time did this blood bath occur? i open the
sliding glass door to get a better look. the next door neighbor,
trudy, has cats. one of them freaks out when i open the door and
darts across the deck. AHHHHHH!!! as if i need to be more on edge,
there's dead meat on the deck. then this darting cat, looks over with
a killer's eye. did this cat mangle the squirrel? if so, why didn't
it leave this dead package on his owner's deck? did he want to
impress us?

here is photo documentation of blood bath. notice mangled body, stray
meat parts, AN ENTIRE PAW, severed. and PART OF A JAW. the teeth are
kind of cool. so is the perfectly in tact claw foot. i will admit
it.

so thursday evening, in the most common afterwork hour, todd and i
made a trip to the blue hills. i looked it up the other day, and
turns out, its only 8 miles from boston. that is ridiculous. my
perceptual vison of massachusetts is no where near complete. there
are seemingly endless amounts of ways to connect place to place. but
strangely enough, once you find a way that you know, you usually take
that way. exploring takes time, but so does sitting in traffic
because everyone is going the way that they know.

anyway. it was time to run. running along the city streets is kind
of crazy. mostly because trucks and cars stink so bad. street art is
good. pot holes are not. anyway, its nice to run not on cement.
you'd think that running on rocks would be scary. uneven little
pellets that can maim you in one second if you take the wrong step.
but there is nothing to be scared of. as long as you pay attention,
the rocks are sitting in a cushion of dirt that is a free shock
system. once you get a good form going, your knees pretty much give
you a high five.

the blue hills. a place we never go, because, as i found out, the
trail markers are kind of hard to read. and its really no fun to be
figuring out where you are in an unlit area with mosquitoes. this is
the recipe for jen carnage.

so it was nearing the end of our path of running fun. mostly rocks.
hills. there really are hills. there is a field down to the right.
sneaky steps are made, and there it is. deer in sight. scared by our
steps, and stinky armpits, 2 more deer bounce out of the grassy green
into the trees. 2! antlers. the one standing under the tree has
antlers. he stares at us for a long time. i mean, we stink, we're
glowing sweaty, and we're staring back. no movements. he lost
interest and found his friends. i forgot to mention the bunny.
earlier in the trek, there was a bunny. with a real cotton tail butt.
it was storybook.

and i only got 3 mosquito bites out of the deal. good thing i had
some emu oil to expedite healing.

this is a phrase that i hear multiple times a day. and when i say
multiple, i actually mean all day. from little old ladies who want
their ginger chews in a plastic bag so they can carry it next door to
their house, to my favorite sorority friends who want their small
single serving of nonfat raspberry yogurt in plastic in case the
yogurt decides to get angry and chooses that rupturing inside a
bitch's bag will be fun. i cheer for you, yogurt!

bagging groceries can be fun. it's like tetris with frozen lasagna
and broccoli. sometimes tricky, but oh so satisfactory when done
right. but this tetris game of mine can't be played with plastic
bags. because they suck. but i don't hate them becuase they don't
allow me to play tetris, i hate them because they do things suffocate
animals who are hungry and produce unnecessary trash on beaches and
other places that are pretty.

when people tell me, "plastic is fine," i feel like kicking them where
it hurts. i understand that plastic can be handy at times, but when
people waste it and hoard it like its gold, it makes me a little crazy
inside. i mean, when it rains and my bike seat gets all wet, i even
use a plastic bag to put over the seat so that my underwear don't get
soaked. its not fun to ride a bike with a wet butt. but that one
single bag lasts me through many a rainy day. do people really need
double plastic bags to carry light things like popcorn and cookies?
of course they do. they're american and can do whatever they want.
live free or die. plastic makes me feel free, and dang...i sure do
like being free.

so maybe people just need to think about their language a little more.
plastic isn't actually fine. but then again, humans aren't
responsible for global warming or anything. maybe we should invent
plastic houses and infect our blood with plastic chemicals and start
growing mutant baby farms where they drink plastic juice. then these
mutant babies will eventually evolve to have plastic skin!! no need
for an umbrella, your skin is plastic! everyone will be happy because
they're made of plastic!! sign me up for that.

squash, oh squash, where have you come from?

could it be from the heavens, a miraculous thrill?
or did the squash fairy leave you for us to grill?

maybe a raccoon dug you from the depths of the trash,
but alas! you gave that greedy scavenger a rash!

such a surprise it was, to see you on the step,
green and peaceful, over you i leapt!

who knows how long you will stay,
welcome you are though...everyday.

*this squash randomly appeared on the step one day and has been there ever since.  it kind of looks healthy and delicious, but in all reality someone or something has probably peed on it by now.  tedeschi's is next door, after all.  and so is the connection.  a bar that has had a mysterious gold shoe (with a butterfly on the strap) in front of the door for weeks.  maybe the woman who lost her gold shoe also lost her green squash.  i cry a little bit for her losses.

yes, tis true. the time has come to comment on things like scrunchies and little green monsters that live under my bed. don't worry,
they're nice. they keep my toilet clean.

i guess my first topic of interest will be the traditional st. anthony's feast that happens in the north end of boston. a humongous
deal that i've always wanted to go to, but never have. was i missing out? more than you even know.

there are a few bullet point things that make this homage to the patron saint of lost things a rager and a half:
1. beer on the street. some in brown bags, some not. cops are everywhere, watching you brown bag it. but you are safe--cops like
watching money trees grow, even more than they like eating jelly filled donuts.
2. folding tables set up so people can chow down, family style.
3. loud speakers bumpin' the best base in town. and women with red sox caps and midriffs dancing on a platform, next to said speakers.
4. new bostonians, moving in. carrying vacuums down the street.
5. slick hair, gold chains, leather mandals. grillin' and smoking cigars. the smell of sausage sticks to your nose hairs.
6. money. money. money. i've never seen so much money on a religious statue in my life. octopus arms of dollar bills, dancing in
the light of dusk, blessing everyone around. when we were in the liquor store, getting our beer for the street, the dude at the counter was preparing his very own octopus arm. a donation from the local liquor, i presume. it wasn't ready to be placed on the statue of money yet, so when one of the guys carrying anthony down the street came in to collect, words were exchanged. basically, the collection guy yelled at the liquor store guy for not being ready--he would be back to get the money arm later. and if it still wasn't ready? i'm sure another kind of arm was taken. yow.

if you're not italian, and have ever experienced italian envy, going to this festival will increase this envy one hundred fold. i kid you
not.