The Return

As much as I wanted to continue blogging regularly I couldn't find it in me to make the time for it over the last eight months. It's been a long while since I've been active here and I've had a lot of guilt about that. Life got in the way. I still read lots of books and blogs though I did not write as much as I would have liked, but I couldn't harness the energy to blog.

I switched my day job and quit Philadelphia for Boston. Leaving my job was hard, I'd been there for almost 6 years and I was sad to say goodbye to many of my coworkers, but I wanted to relocate and I am happy that I did. The move was an adventure for sure but it took a long time to come to fruition.  I've had the desire to flee to New England for years. I primarily credit Alice Hoffman, maple syrup, and the Autumn season for this desire. In theory it sounds dreadfully romantic, doesn't it?

Picking up and moving however involved a lot more steps, planning, and frustrating apartment hunting than they show in books and movies. Though I enjoy planning, list making, and employing excel spreadsheets to pave the way so I'm not complaining. Also, the most frustrating piece of apartment hunting was getting a landlord to accept my 50 pound dog and I would never complain about that. I knew what I was signing up for when I adopted him five years ago and I'm happy I found a place with a fenced in yard.

I think he likes it.

We arrived just in time for our new city to be attacked on Marathon Monday. My family was not entirely pleased to see me relocating so far away, but they understood it was something I needed to do. I live alone and I think that stresses them out to a certain extent. The Marathon Bombings, which occurred half a block from my new office, did not help assuage their worries. Boston, however, is a strong city and the response to the attacks have only served to affirm that I made the right decision.

Yesterday when she was over my friend, Liz-who played a vital role in my move, said it looks like I've lived here for years. And I do feel settled now. With the to do lists put aside and the stress of moving ebbing, I find the words come easier. The itch to dust off my last project and breath life into it is stronger than ever. Writing playlists are revamped. Deadlines are updated in spreadsheets and I feel the writer inside of me nudging herself to the forefront again. I'm more myself when I'm writing regularly and though I was too occupied to feel the hole not writing left in my days I can sense the completeness that was not there over recent months. It's a comfort and I'm beyond grateful for it.

Hopefully, I'll get back on track with a blogging schedule soon. I know some folks have missed my Book Reports and I have definitely missed some folks.

The Glory of the Bike Messenger

I work in Center City Philadelphia and like any good metropolis we have our share of bike messengers. Particularly in Rittenhouse, where my office is located. Sometimes they almost run me over when I jaywalk and they run red lights, but on the whole we have a pleasant relationship as pedestrian and cyclists. The picture below was taken at the entrance to the park, I walk by every day. These guys and girls have a distinct bike messenger look about them. I can spot one a mile off-without the giveaway bike or aptly-named messenger bag.



Photo by Julius Reeves



They are all tan and kind of dirty. That is to say, not entirely covered in filth, but not clean. They dress in cut-off denim shorts, skinny jeans riddled with holes, or in baggier pants with one leg rolled up. The insanely toned calf exposed almost always sports some colorful tattoo. Maybe it's a giant ankh or Betty Page on a bearskin rug, whatever it is it cost them half their rent that month. A lot of them have dreadlocks and the guys might have too much facial hair. The girls always have colorful hair and a whole sleeve of tattoos. 


Still they're kind of hot. That is to say, not perfectly sexy, but not too shabby either. Maybe it's seeing them in an office building where everyone is wearing business attire and they are so different they break up the monotony. There is something alluring when the monotony is broken. And they definitely do that.

Philadelphia Weekly said, "The small bicycle-courier community in Philadelphia is overwhelmingly male and young, nearly everybody a dropout from school, career or some other mainstream obligation."

 

In Copenhagen bike messengers are even hotter.



These are the guys that rocked out in garages throughout high school. The ones who were so bad, but so cute nobody cared. They're the Jordan Catalanos whose bands never made it. They are almost rock stars and rebels and they always smell kind of musky. They aren't all hot, but as a group. They've got it going on.

A friend, whose office uses bike messengers frequently, received trading cards for Time Cycle. I had a set. There were pictures of each messenger, complete with fun facts on the back. Nickname, years in the business, weirdest delivery, other hobbies, etc. They were hilarious. Even the pictures were great. Posing goofy on their bikes. Though none of them leaning* which was a real shame in my opinion.

Kind of hot, funny, athletic, brings you things in a timely fashion, what's not to love? Why isn't my protagonist chasing one of these bad boy cyclists? Oh, wait...they are mostly slacker types who smoke a lot of pot and are the older version of those guys in high school who cared more about their band than you and were emotionally unavailable. Making them still emotionally unavailable and moody that their band never made it. They will probably resent you for listening to mainstream music, which they would define as any successful music. They also probably care more about their bike than you.

I exaggerate. Of course not all bike messengers are the way I describe above. I, for one, refuse to believe anything but the best of Mr. Copenhagen. You have to admit it's a weird profession. When it rains, they are still out there, riding through the city. In the snow and ice, they deliver or they don't get paid. Something writers can definitely relate to.

It must be nice to do something they love all day. Some people might think it weird to sit and make up stories 8+ hours a day but I would love that. I wonder, what my uniform would be then, pajamas? If I ever reach full-time writerdom, I will be sure to roll up one pajama leg and work whatever the weather or state of my office.

You can tell this guy is just a model, he's fake dirty and too pale.
No one is fooled, buddy.
Where are your tattoos?



*My So-Called Life reference.