The start of a new life

After weeks of planning and patient anticipation, I finally did what I've been wanting to do for months: Ask Jennifer to marry me. And, through tears of joy, she said yes.

It was perfect, and it was worth all the effort I made — from using my vast information networks to get her ring size to getting a ring; from secretly traveling to St. Louis to ask for her parents' blessing to the proposal itself.

She arrived in Boston late Thursday, and we exchanged Christmas gifts when I got home from work. We went to bed, but I could barely sleep from the anticipation of the next day. When we awoke, we laid in bed talking for what seemed like an eternity, but I didn't want to rush her out of bed and make her think that something was up. So we took our time, and when we finally got up, I told her we needed to get some groceries and, "if you're good, we can stop at Tealuxe" — a gourmet tea cafe in the Back Bay — "and have a cup of tea."

We dressed in our sweaters and coats — it was still cold, despite the pretty, sunny day — and made our way to, unbeknownst to her, The Spot.



So the children's book, Make Way for Ducklings, has played a small, but cute, role in our relationship. It's the story of a mother and father duck who fly to Boston and eventually decide to make a home for themselves and their ducklings, Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack, in the Public Gardens. The book prominently features the Common, the Gardens, and Beacon Hill, and we both fell in love with it. I sent her a copy of the book in September as a surprise, and she loved it.

Well, to commemorate the park's role in the story, artist Nancy Schön crafted bronze statues of the ducklings and placed them in the Public Gardens. And every time Jenn comes to Boston, we always try to go see the ducklings.



I knew that's where I wanted to propose; it was a place that had meaning to us, and it was a place we could always come back to and reminisce.

As we crossed the street into the park, my heart was pounding. This was the moment that I was dreaming about, the moment whose anticipation kept me awake so many nights. I gripped her hand tight as we walked into the park and strolled up to the ducklings.

"Aw, there's the ducklings," she said.

"I know!" I said. "Hey … could you take my picture with the ducklings?"

"Sure."

"Wait, let's wait for these people to go by; I don't want to look silly."

"OK."

I could feel the ring in my pocket, and I rubbed it with my hand. Is this truly real?

It was starting to get awkward as I was just standing there and she was waiting for me to hand her the camera. I had to think fast.

"Oh, man!" I exclaimed. "That guy just got hit by a car!"

"Where?!" she said, spinning around. "I can't see anything. There are bushes over there."

In an instant, the ring was out of my pocket and down on the bricks, next to the duckling.

"Oh, I guess he's … I guess he's all right."

Perplexed, she turned around. "OK … so, do you want to hand me the camera?"

"Sure," I said. "… But first, there's something you need to see down here."

She walked closer to me and looked down. She spotted the ring and gasped.

"Do you know what that is?" I asked.

"Yes … " she said in almost a whisper. She bent down to pick it up, and she pulled in close to me.

"I'll tell you what it is to me," I said. "It's a symbol of my commitment to you, and of the beginning of our life together. And I want to know … will you marry me?"

"Of course!" she said, crying.

I started crying, and we kissed a long kiss, and held each other tightly. I've never been so happy.

"You might want to call your parents," I said.

"Yeah," she said with a chuckle.

" … But they already know."

"WHAT? They already know?!"

I explained my secret trip to St. Louis, and how I asked her parents, and she started to cry even more. We held hands as we walked through the park to Newbury Street, and I explained everything I had planned. The Grand Scheme.

She spent much of the rest of the afternoon on the telephone, calling friends and family, and it gave me time to reflect on what had happened. It was finally real, and it felt strange, in a good way. I felt very grown up.

As we walked around Boston, the city seemed even more beautiful than it ever had. The snow on the ground, the warm colors of the old brick buildings … it was starting to feel like home, and I was so happy.

In Sight, Dec. 25

Fluffy delivery!

In Sight, Dec. 18

Tried this scene (on Comm. Ave.) again with my SLR. Any preference?

In Sight, Dec. 16

Sorry for the quality; I took these on my phone and my shivering hands made the photos blurry.

Another 7 inches of snow fell on us yesterday, and the storm later turned to dumping freezing rain, which turned to ice. It was cold yesterday, and parts of my jacket and wet hair started to freeze as I was doing errands.

Fortunately, it's a beautiful day today. Cold, but with a rich, blue sky and lots of sunshine. I can handle that.

In Sight, Dec. 14

Commonwealth Avenue in the Back Bay.

Snow!

Boston was blanketed by about 10 inches of snow last night, the first snowstorm of the season. For drivers, it was hell — commutes were taking three to five hours (seriously) — but for people walking or taking the T, it was ... magical.

If only work was.

Production was brutal tonight. We had a huge section, 35 columns, and the copy desk, which is normally fully staffed by 5 p.m., was empty at 6:45 p.m. (A photographer said he was stuck on Morrissey Boulevard between JFK station and the Globe — normally a seven-minute walk for me — for two hours.) We produced only two editions, half of what we normally do, because deadlines were so difficult to meet across the entire newsroom.

But to me, the first snowstorm was a pleasure. There are few things as beautiful as the first snow, I've come to discover. The landscape becomes almost magical, and if you're all bundled up and wearing boots, it's almost hard to want to go indoors. I was in such good spirits this afternoon, and even though the snow was up to my calves at some points during my walk home tonight, I didn't mind.



The Common.



The Massachusetts State House.



The steps from the Common that lead to my neighborhood.



Joy Street in Beacon Hill.



… I'm so glad I don't have a car.



Joy Street.

In Sight, Dec. 12

Outside Macy's in Downtown Crossing.

View Larger Map


(This image, which you can manipulate with your mouse, shows my apartment building on the left! Weird!)


Google Street View is now available for Boston, along with many more cities. I hear Jacksonville and Atlanta are coming soon.

Driving tour of Boston

Although Google Maps' Street View isn't yet available for Boston*, an imitator, EveryScape is. And EveryScape has a cool option: AutoDrive, which is an optional mode that will tour you around the city. If you go here, and select Louisburg Square, you'll get a nice tour of beautiful Beacon Hill — and you'll probably drive right by my building. (You can navigate to it manually, too, if you want.)

If you've never been to Boston and want to see how pretty it is, it's a good way to get a taste.

* Though it's probably in the finishing stages — the icon, although nonfunctional, recently started appearing on maps of Boston.

In Sight, Dec. 7

Snow in front of the State House.

Winterized!

Before I moved here, the idea of really cold weather was foreign to me. Yes, I had seen snow and I spent several days in cold weather (try going to Paris in February), but having to deal with it every day was incomprehensible.

It hasn't been above freezing for almost a week now. Snow that fell while I was in Florida is still on the streets, and we're expecting more in the next few days.

It's not even winter yet.

But here's the best part: I don't really mind it. Seriously. I discovered early on that a few small clothing choices can mean the difference between misery and comfort. Returning from the airport the other day, I was hating life because I was underdressed, yet yesterday, all bundled up, I decided to not go home immediately after work and stroll through the icy park.

Yes, you wear a lot of clothes. But I'd rather spend a few extra minutes dressing and undressing than be miserable. Here's what I wore yesterday:

• Long-sleave T-shirt
• Sweater
• Royal Navy-quality peacoat
• Underwear
• Thermal underwear
• Corduroy pants
• Scarf
• Knit cap
• Leather gloves
• Socks (one pair)
• Converse sneakers

The weakness was my feet, which were neither warm enough or were able to provide traction on ice. It wasn't cold enough yet for them to truly bother me, but I'd rather not have a vulnerability.

Now, I'm invulnerable, thanks to das boots.


Keen Dakota men's boots. The lining inside them is filled with air from Death Valley and they're hand made from dragon skin by Italian supermodels in carved-out volcanoes, so they're unbelievably hot. Waterproof and cold-weather rated to -25 degrees, these boots are so badass that snow melts when it sees them, from fear of being trodden upon. Yeah.

So unless the weather is in the single digits or below, people who complain about the cold here are probably not dressing properly.*

So, with that in mind ... come visit me in Boston! And bring lots of clothing!

* When I write an entry in the middle of January about how I want to die, I will grant everyone permission to throw my words back at me. It's only fair.

Stealth mission to Jacksonville

I returned to Jacksonville last week to be with Jennifer to celebrate our one-year anniversary. Well, that's what I told her. I really wanted to remember what it felt like to have 80-degree weather in December. (But don't tell her that.)


It was so hot on Dec. 1 that moments after I snapped this photo, the tree at The Landing spontaneously combusted. Back in balmy Boston, it was 17 degrees and the trees were shivering.

Jenn and I went to the annual Douglas Anderson Chili Cookoff, which was our first date last year. Last year I spent all night nervously trying to be funny and hoping that the red wine would make me look handsome; this year it was spent dodging allegations of recruiting the school's prized math teacher to come live in New England … and hoping the red wine would make everyone forget that painfully obvious truth.

Kidding about that last part. We had a terrific time and I enjoyed seeing some of our mutual friends again.

Much of the rest of the time Jenn and I spent exploring the city …


Whoa ... new buildings downtown.

… eating at European Street …


Despite multiple stab wounds, the Chocolate Beast still terrorized Jennifer, forcing her to eat it to death.

… and performing lewd acts on each other in public in full view of the paparazzi. (Good thing there weren't any cameras capturing my stripper dance on the Skyway … hey, it has poles! What else was I supposed to do?)


Heeeeey!

Later that weekend, Jenn, Pat, and Denise (AME of Visuals at the T-U and my former boss) boogied at Eclipse. We had the whole dance floor to ourselves because, apparently, no one parties on a Sunday night like three journalists and a teacher.




The best part of having a club to yourself is the DJ takes all of your requests.





I was able to see the family for dinner one night, but most of them weren't home: two brothers were working and my mom was in South Florida, helping a friend recover from surgery. My dad, who recently returned from China and Brazil, was home, and he told us of his adventures in the Worker's Paradise.

I'll leave off with a pair of photos of something so typically Jacksonvillian that i grew homesick when I spotted them:


A bitchin' Trans-Am, and upon closer inspection …


… a declaration: "GAS, GRASS, OR ASS/NOBODY RIDES FOR FREE!!" Words to live by, I suppose.

In Sight, Nov. 23

Why didn't I see this film years ago?

Hint, and you shall receive

The other day I was talking to my boss and I told him the 5-year-old Mac G4 I was using was a little slow.



Truthfully, it was really slow running modern programs like Photoshop CS2. But, hey, I don't have to pay the bills, so I'll stick with what they give me.

Well, to my surprise, look what was waiting for me when I got to work today:



A new quad-core Mac Pro and a 30-inch display! Holy crap!

I wonder if I should *hint* that my computer back at home is "a little slow" …

First snow of the fall

It's snowing outside right now. It's not quite cold enough — it's only 37 degrees — and the snow isn't sticking; just melting when it hits the ground, making the streets and sidewalks look wet.

I've been sitting by my windows, drinking coffee and listening to Debussy
, watching the snow float down to the ground and vanish. It's quite soothing from this vantage, though I'm sure it won't be as nice when I walking through the gray to the subway. But that's why they make trench coats, scarves, and boots.

Yes, it's cold outside, and, yes, come January, I will be daydreaming about "warm" 30-degree days … but I've honestly been looking forward to this moment for months. At work, Beverly has been poking fun at me because every time we'd get the weather page for the last two weeks, I'd ask if it's going to snow. That led to her to turn the tables.

"Think it's going to snow tonight, Robert?" she would ask in a playful voice that implied the question was merely rhetorical.

"Why, do you think it will, Beverly?" I would respond, the eagerness in my voice quite audible.

"We'll see!" she would say, and we'd rehearse this routine each night around 8:30.

Well, it's snowing now ... and I'm happy.

In Sight, Nov. 18

Ice skating on the Frog Pond in the Common.


A chilly, yet beautiful, fall day on the Common.

See this movie*

"No Country For Old Men," the Coen brothers' new film based on Cormac McCarthy's novel, is one of the best films I've seen in a long time. So much so that I'm going to see it again tomorrow afternoon.

I knew I would like it: I'm a big fan of the Coen brothers, and Cormac McCarthy is probably one of the best living American writers (I started reading his Pulitzer-winning "The Road" last week). But the biggest surprise was Javier Bardem, the actor who brilliantly plays the homicidal maniac, Anon Chigurh. Tommy Lee Jones, always a good bet, is awesome as the haunted Sheriff Bell.

I could go on and on about the West Texas setting, the camera work, the dialogue ... the movie is terrific, and I'm sure it's going to win the hell out of some Oscars this year.

*Only if you like dark, violent, morally ambiguous movies that demand almost as much of you as you of them.

(-30- movie plug)

When the Times picked up a Globe story that I edited, they kept the headline I wrote (and most of my edits). Can I officially call this my first New York Times headline … or am I just huge dork who is making this out to be a lot bigger than it should be?

Whatev. It made me smile this morning. :D

In Sight, Nov. 16

David Ryan shot this photo at the The Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University.

Bummed

What I won't be seeing in person on Thanksgiving.

I'm unable to go to Chicago for Thanksgiving. I blame that mostly on the fact I have no seniority (then again, it's tough to get seniority among a copy desk that has 40-year veterans). Someone has to put out the paper and the veterans need their vacations.

There is a silver lining, though: I'm going to Jax (again) at the end of this month, so I won't have to go two months without seeing Jenn.

And at least I'll still be able to eat well: The Globe's fête for its Thanksgiving crew is supposedly legendary. And I'll probably head out to Brookline for dessert with Tom and Leslie. So I won't have to cry myself to sleep that night. Heh. Still, I would've loved to see Jenn's family for Thanksmas. (And Chicago is pretty cool, too.)

Next year?

So long, Franco

Franco. He was mine from July 2002 to November 2007.

We went through a lot together, me and him. He took me through the bayou of Louisiana, through the wasteland of western Texas and the great deserts of the Southwest to the shore of the Pacific Ocean — and back. He took me up the eastern coast to Washington, D.C., and, later, up to New England. We were victims of crime, and our stereo was stolen while he slept in my driveway in San Marco.

The car, bought from my grandmother, was nearly perfect, mechanically speaking. I heard Toyotas were reliable, but this was getting a little bizarre: He gave me 70,000 miles and asked little in return.

Unfortunately for him, I started using him less and less. Consider this: from September 2006 to November 2007, I put 6,000 miles on him — 1,500 of those were during the drive to Boston. Why? I started walking or bicycling everywhere while I lived in San Marco and, later, I moved to a great city that was rife with every car's worst nightmare: extensive and reliable public transportation. Some have asked me if it felt weird to not have a car after having one for 10 years, and I can honestly say it doesn't feel weird: I drove him twice since July, and one of those times was driving for driving's sake (I just wanted to see if he'd turn on).

It was time for him to go, and fortunately I sold him to a family friend and not just some non-rhotic-accented Bostonian.

My closest family friend — my second mother, by all accounts — Maria now owns Franco. She and my mom came up to Boston last weekend to visit and pick up Franco.


Maria and Mom in Harvard Yard. (Strangely, there were no cahs pahked there.)

They took their time heading south, stopping in New York in D.C., and I received word yesterday that they arrived Florida. I was told he ran great the whole time.

Damn straight he did, I thought.

This is so awesome …

Mario Kart!

NYT: Norman Mailer, Outspoken Novelist, Dies at 84

Momentum

I finally feel like we're making the City & Region page look less … like a metro page. You know what I mean; big photo, five stories each day. We're making it look less like a template, and more like a vehicle for good storytelling and compelling design.


"Can you tell he used to be a business designer?"

In Sight, Nov. 7

Last train downtown.

In Sight, Nov. 6

It's rainy and cold in Boston.

What's going on?

It seems like awhile since I wrote, but I guess it's been only 10 days. A lot happened in those past 10 days, though, so I haven't had much of a chance to update.

Whatever. You didn't come here for excuses. You came here on the promise of riches beyond your wildest dreams and, if you got my recent chain letter, offers of hot, teen girls and various genital enhancement products.

So, to answer Marvin's question, here's what's going on:

TRAVELS

I was in Jacksonville from Sunday to Wednesday of last week. No particular reason; just to get my fix of family and Jacksonville friends. I went to European Street on Sunday night, and many people came out to visit. I was surprised by how many, and it was wonderful to see everyone. It was strange because I haven't been gone long enough to feel out of place in Jacksonville, so it felt almost like I never left; like Boston was a dream.

But, as the week progressed, I started missing Boston; the city, really. Specifically, the public transportation. I had to ride a JTA bus to UNF for my lecture on Monday, and it kind of sucked. The bus was late and they run so infrequently. I'm not faulting JTA — Jacksonville has grown beyond the scope of reliable public transportation. I'm just really happy to have the MBTA, even when it gets in my juice.

The lecture went really well. I brought an exercise for the class: a story that had a bunch of holes in it, and I pretended to be the careless reporter. So as they read the story and spotted something that didn't make sense, they called me over and tried to get the info from me. The exercise promoted good judgment, which is a lot more important for a newspaper copy editor than the ability to chase down errant commas.

After class, some of the students who work for the campus newspaper, the Spinnaker, invited me back to the office, which was a nice trip into the past.

… OK, as I'm writing this, I have to admit, it still feels weird to go back there. No, "weird" is such an inaccurate word. "Old" is actually how I feel. "Out of place" is another. I admit that going from college graduate to a top 10 national newspaper in five years is impressive on paper, but I don't think I can live up to the students' idea of what that should look like. "Work hard and you'll go far" just doesn't sound very sexy. Maybe I'm just being modest. Whatever. I'll have to revisit the issue again (maybe just in my head next time).

Going home was great. It was nice to see my brothers and family … and see the dogs! I've missed them so much. But not as much as I've missed my cats. Travis, the queen, seemed to play coy when she saw me on Sunday. Then, after a few minutes, she was rubbing all over me and it was like I never left. And when Jenn and I went to bed that night, it was finally a full house again, with all four of us snuggled up. THAT was my favorite part of the trip.

The day before I left, my mom and I went for a drive in her new convertible, and we toured Fruit Cove, County Road 210 and Palm Valley. Parts of it are unrecognizable to me, even though I haven't been to that area in a year. There is so much development and this Nocatee thing? Man. I can't believe it's already starting. So long, Old Florida.

Overall, I enjoyed the trip home. I wish I could've stayed longer to see more of Jenn, but I'll see her in a few weeks in Chicago. I can't wait for that!

NOTE ON TRAVELING

I intended to bring Travis to Boston with me this time, but it didn't happen — my landlord intends to work on the apartment soon and I decided Travis didn't need to be around for all that.

In my preparations for bringing her up, however, I researched the protocol for traveling with pets. I was startled by what I read: US Air charges $80 to bring a cat aboard. Let me clarify: US Air wants me to pay $80 to shove my cute, awesome cat in a cage and place her under my seat (where my legs would go) for several hours.

Obviously, they fear the cat will disturb the other passengers. But as I climbed into the seat at 5:30 Sunday morning, I started fuming when a baby started screaming in the seat right in front of me, and didn't stop for hours.

How is this fair, that the baby can fly for free and in the arms of its mother while my cat requires $80 and a cage? I decided to write a letter, and I've included the top:



… and a solution …


Baby's First Kennel®!

I'm going to send it to US Air in hopes of a policy change.

WORK

Work is going splendidly. I received all superiors on my 90-day probation review. "Yes, you can stay," my boss told me. But more importantly, my hours are changing. Now, I'll work from 2:45 to 10:45 p.m., which will give me several hours to work on the cover design. Hoo-ray!

SUNDRY OTHER TOPICS

• THE WEATHER is cool (almost cold), and I love it. I bought Awesome Jacket, a black, double-breasted pea coat that is super warm and quite stylish (I think). The only downside to the upcoming winter is the fact that the sun sets at 4:30 p.m. now. Seriously. It's 4:58 p.m. as I'm finishing this entry, and there's only the slightest trace of light left in the sky and the sun is well below the horizon. Until I get used to this, my body is going to be a little screwy. For instance, last night I was ready for dinner around 5:30 p.m. and ready for bed by 10 p.m.
• MY MOM and Maria are coming to visit next week. Maria is buying my car and the two of them are driving it back to Florida. So long, car.


• HALO 3 is a friggin' awesome game. Tom and I played for hours yesterday.

• OS X Leopard was worth the wait. It's quite an amazing piece of software, and the new Adobe CS3 runs even faster on it. (Side note: I'm going to start freelancing editing and design services again. It's always nice to work on projects that aren't related to newspapers.)