A Rochestarian in Boston
When I first moved to Binghamton back in 2002, I called my father and said, “Dad, this place is the retirement home for old Chevy Luminas,” the car my family had recently gotten rid of. Well, if Binghamton was home to early 90s Luminas, Boston is the retirement home of old Volvos. If Boston has an official city car, it has to be the Volvo, with any Volkswagen not too far behind. I mean, I even saw a Volvo limousine today while walking on campus. After being told repeatedly that it is “crazy” to drive and own a car in Boston, there are so many cars that it makes me wonder if Bostonians take their own advice, or if they just don’t want another car added to their commute.
However, as I was thinking that, I witnessed first hand the curse that is owning a car in Boston. Thursday afternoon, my apartment-mates and I ran over to a store in Coolidge Corner (an area of shops). On our way out of the store, we were walking up to Amanda’s car only to find another car was hitting it right at that moment. Trying to create a parking spot of his own, a man had his rear bumper pretty much on top of hers. Luckily and remarkably, there was no dent or scratch, but the man wasn’t too pleased when he got out of his car and Amanda called him on it.
While I think I’d rather drive in Boston than in New York City, I would overall rather leave the driving to the T drivers, and put up with the occasional messed-up service (like Wednesday’s temporary storm-related shut-down of the B line as I was trying to make my way to gymnastics) and more-often-than-not overcrowded cars.
But as the days go by, I’m learning to appreciate places like Binghamton and Rochester. Especially Rochester, which I now appreciate in an entirely different light, with it’s big city qualities (museums, great restaurants, mildly big sporting and music events, good shopping) within an easy to get around structure and small neighborhoods. I mean, even Binghamton is livable if you have a car that can get you to Syracuse every once and a while and if you take your time and find the not-too-townie populated places. However, I advocate the “you should live in one big city once in your life if you have the chance” mantra. How will I know where I want to live if I don’t try out everything? And that idea is what has kept me from applying to three jobs back at home that I’ve found. I didn’t give up my friends and family to stay in Boston for just a month. No matter how lonely I may get in Boston, I have to make it through the year. I owe it to myself.
So I’ll make it through the year here, but who knows if I’ll make it in one piece, as evidenced by what happened in gymnastics this week. Now, I might of mentioned that my mother expressed deep worry when I told her that I was taking gymnastics this summer. “Katie, you do realize you never quite got that shoulder thing fixed, don’t you?”
“Yeah, Mom, but that was years ago.”
“Honey, that was three years ago.”
“Yeah, exactly. Three years ago. It hasn’t given me problems in a long time.”
“If it’s not your shoulder, it’ll be something else. Think about it. You’re kind of accident-prone.”
“Third time’s a charm, Mom. I’ll be fine. It’s only a few weeks anyway.”
Fast forward to Thursday night’s conversation, which I dreaded, but figured I had to have.
“How are you?” my mom asked.
“Well…uh…I have a headache. But it’s a really funny story!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know how I take gymnastics?”
“Well…it’s really funny if you think about it. I got kicked in the head while spotting a back walkover.”
“That’s why you have a headache?”
“Well, then five minutes after that I was doing a back walkover and my bad shoulder gave out and I landed straight on my head.”
“What do you mean your shoulder gave out?”
“Well, it was sore the other times, but this time it hurt a lot…”
Needless to say, my mom wants me to drop the class. But I’m fine now. Really. (Takes another dose of Advil.) I mean, if I ice my shoulder and don’t do much with it, I don’t feel a thing. And trust me, after this, I’ll never do gymnastics again. I mean, I’m getting kind of old. I’m 22. I need to stop trying to fulfill my dreams of childhood. Just after I learn how to do a few more things on the beam…
Speaking of gymnastics, I think two of the girls in my class are engaged. (They had diamond solitaries on their ring fingers that they didn’t take off for class. Safety hazard?) Couple that with the endless amounts of couples that walk down the street or make their way on the T, take the fact that I’m the only single girl in my apartment, and take the fact that the theme of 2004 thus far seems to be “people I know getting married,” and I’m beginning to think that I’m the last remaining unattached person on earth.
Of course this isn’t true (4 of the 6 Hunter 115 girls were single), but it’s reached a point that I know more attached (dating on up) people than unattached. That’s never happened before. However, I once heard someone say that right after you graduate from college, a wave of your friends will get married, and for a good two years, you’ll be invited to more weddings and recognizing more names in the wedding announcements than you ever thought you would. And then it just stops. Three to five years down the road, you go through the other wave of friends and their marriages (or in some cases, the same friends with their second marriages). You either get married at 22-24, or you get married at 27-30. Now, I don’t know how true that is, but I’m thinking that sounds about right. And because I’m a crazy overachieving workaholic, I’ll be in that latter group, which is fine with me, because with this much educational debt, I’m not very attractive wife material. And because of the whole crazy overachieving part, it’s kind of hard for me to meet guys and keep them around anyway. So let me work myself out of the crazy overachieving-ness, and then maybe I can join the droves of ya’ll heading for the chapel. Plus, I’m still looking for the twin of Tom Brady, so like, I can’t get married till I find him. So yeah…(Tom Brady doesn’t have a twin that I know of, but if he did, watch out!)
Now if you don’t mind me, it is off to drown the sorrow of the Red Sox’s fourth straight loss with a movie and full-flavoured pop (I’m taking a night off the diet pop, because every once and a while you have to remind yourself what the real thing tastes like.)