Best Places for Being Bougie in Boston

I filled this weekend with good wine, modern art and lots of cheese.  I kicked off my bougie weekend with a wine tasting in the South End.  The Wine Emporium had a bubbly wine rep and a good deal on 3 bottles.  (Good thing too because we finished them all the next night.)

Saturday I shared my new favorite nook of  Boston with Chris and Colleen--Roslindale Village.  We started at the Boston Cheese Cellar, a food store you actually want to be smelly.  Chris gravitated to the stinky, strong British cheeses.  Colleen tested all the French selections.  I nabbed some more Spanish cheese to go with my membrillo and some holy swiss.  

Next stop was Fornax Bread Company for fresh bread then Tony's Italian Market for buffalo mozzerella, gnocchi and prosciutto.  Last, we swung by the Roslindale Fish Market, which was stocked with giant slabs of fish, gallon jugs of olives and curious cans of greek specialties.  I picked up some stuffed grape leaves and Socrates soap.  

We then proceeded to cook and eat for several hours.  Cheese plates, gnocchi with gorgonzola sauce, squash tortelli with sage.  And 7 bottles of wine.  (To be fair, there were 8 of us.)

Sunday more cheese with breakfast then off to the Institute of Contemporary Art for Shepard Fairey's first museum exhibition.  The museum is a gorgeous one, a glass, boxy structure that juts out over the Boston harbor.  The exhibit was a raw, beautiful and thought-provoking one.  After seeing so much of Fairey's work - clean-lined posters, stenciled graffitti in NYC and Andre stickers on phone poles - it was great to see the layered, textured and larger than life art in frames and good lighting.  The rest of the museum was quality, though small.  

I'm wrapping up my weekend finally fininshing up D.H. Lawrence's Women in Love.  

Tomorrow I think I might have to eat burger king, watch a reality show and drink a bud just to balance this all out.

Diving into JP

I finally end up moving to a sweet apartment in Jamaica Plain and then I leave to travel more. Then the cold weather got a grip on me, giving me bronchitis and strep throat. Okay, maybe those were more my doing than the weather. Finally the past 2 weekends I had a lull in my busy schedule and recovery to finally take advantage of my new neighborhood.

At first I resisted the mass exodus of nonprofit workers from Cambridge to JP. I like cities, I like culture and JP seemed more of a place to settle down with a family. You can see how skewed my sense of what is 'suburban' by the fact that I judge seeing 10 trees and 1 baby stroller as being suburban. At face value Cambridge seems way hipper. Filled with glasses-wearing intellectuals, stores like Urban Outfitters and bars like the Cantab, you'd just assume this is where cool people like.

Au contraire, however! JP is as hip as it gets. Perhaps it was the down-to-earth nature of the residents that fooled me. I wasn't used to niceties after NYC, LA and Miami after all.

Around since 1630, JP is filled with lots of old buildings, local business, and plenty of colonial-cozy bars. It's got a sizable gay population and artists. Though I've heard it called up and coming, it's still pretty cheap and the orange line is quick.

I've spent my last few weekends reveling in what, up until now, I resented--snow.

My neighborhood is equipped with a free skating rink. For $2 skate rentals you can whirl around on the ice and watch a crazy skate show from the local urban youth. (Who knew they like skating?) I joined the community pool, a mere $25 annual membership and loved the warm water after spending the morning biking around in the cold.

Last weekend's topper, though, was the Franklin Park Snow Festival. We seemed to be the oldest non-parents around as we watched about a hundred kids barrel down a hill on toboggans. We contributed a pretty scary-looking snowman to the snow crowd and warmed ourselves inside on free hot chocolate.

I'm excited to see what else JP's got to throw down before I start traveling again.

Squished States

Florida and California are sunny paradises that seem to go on forever, but it's fun being in New England where's a short drive to your next-door neighbor states.  Friday I offered up my car for a group drive up to Portland Maine to a friend's 30th birthday party.  I couldn't imagine anywhere having more snow or being more cold, but there they were, giant 5 foot piles of frozen white stuff.  

Next was Providence.  I had driven down to Ikea and figured, well half way there, might as well call my friend.  My friend, whom I hadn't seen in years, was, thankfully, not doing anything, so I sped right down to the Ocean State.  The city was absolutely adorable.  Hilly roads, small little streets, cute New England houses.

Despite the car fatigue, today I drove a load of co-workers up to Concord, New Hampshire for a staff meeting.  My day was spent in meetings, but I ventured out to a cute little co-op that served a mean cup of coffee, of which I imbibed several throughout the day. 

In each case, my experience was limited to basically seeing the people that I had come to see and not exploring the city.  Heck, I've barely had a chance to explore Boston, but each little state capital left me with the impression that in New England, small and quaint are beautiful.  Neon is completely unnecessary when you've got little capitol buildings with shiney gold domes.  

Sick

This city is kicking my ass.  First bronchitis now strep--I've been sick since I got here.  I think I'm allergic to cold weather.

You Meet the Nicest People on Vacation

My eyes open slowly a giant wall-window lets in the bright, bright sun.  If it weren't for the immediate pain that surges through my temples, I'd think this was paradise.  

Through the window there's a pool with jets streaming over a waterfall.  A couple sit in the hot tub and a long bar winds around to a door to the outside world.  

The outside world doesn't seem to exist.  The sun is so bright that nothing can be seen through the door.  Over the walled yard are a few palm trees swaying in the wind. 

I've spent myself again this weekend.  It was Aspen all over again.  Substitute swing dancers for environmentalists.  Sub beaches for snow.  My body can't really take so much anymore.  Too many hangovers--I think I'll swear off drinking (again) for good.

I spend the rest of the day alternatively laying out by the pool to faithfully work on my tan and dozing inside when it gets too hot.  Its so nice to feel hot again. 

After another exciting dance on Saturday, I finally talk someone into giving me a ride back to Miami Beach.  This time I'm not encased in a gated Boca Raton community, but in the Environment Florida staffer flophouse.  I head over to the beach, which is quiet and more ntaural then what I remember for Miami Beach.  When I've recovered again, I jump on the bus and head down to South Beach. 

When I jumped off the bus, the same feeling that overwhelmed me that I felt when I emerged from the metro in LA.  I felt at home.  

It's gotten worse.  The more I trave, the more pieces of me get left in each city.  I find things and people to love and I grow roots.  When I leave each piece of me I left behind tugs me back, so that now I feel happy and unhappy in each place.  Sometimes I feel that it's better not to travel.  Not to know who you're missing.  Never be able to close your eyes and feel the warm sand or see the view from the top of Mullholand Drive.  Not to know four walls that feel like home.  

The only solution is to travel more--to visit the places and people where the roots pull me.

Thank God for 4 weeks paid vacation.

I'm sitting at Tapas Y Tintos on Espanola Way.  I used to come here 2-3 times a week and I never had one visitor to South Beach that I didn't take here.  The manager and bartender both remember me.  My espresso martini tastes the same.  And when my friends arrive and we sit down for dinner and the flamenco I don't think there's anywhere else I'd rather be. 

I ask Adam to hire me to work in Miami again, half jokingly, half for real.  That dream will have to wait a year or two though.  

And who knows?  By then my heart may have taken root in Boston.

Almost Abroad

Just when I'm thinking I'm loving standing still, I start itching to travel again. My new posters just came in for my apartment--luscious Cote d'Azur landscape, a 1950's tourism poster for Mexico and a view of LA's cityhall from Olvera Street. I finally got my library card and found out that the JP library is known for it's travel section, so I picked up Mexico, A traveler's history and La Revolucion. I've subscribed to new travel blogs and obsessively ask anyone who's been about beaches in Mexico.

The time (or budget) for travel abroad hasn't come yet, but I figure Miami is darn close. Every year this weekend is the South Florida Lindy Exchange. Since moving I've gone from host to hostee, but it's so great to return to Miami and feel at home again. There'll be the normal dancing all night, but I'm most excited to feel the humidity again, to see my old bartenders at Tapas, to watch the sunrise on the beach, to chat with the characters on Lincoln Road.

I think it was my move to Miami Beach in the first place that started my wanderlust. I packed up everything, got dropped off in what was, granted, the same time-zone, but a 24 hour drive away from anything that I knew. Spanish was the first language. Palm trees didn't signal vacation, they were your landscaping. The clothing, scarce and the parties, huge.

For this northeastern girl, I might as well have been in South America. That's the thing about Miami, you're so close to dangling off the edge of America, that you may have well not be in America. The papers are filled with news of Cuba and even the tourists seemed to adopt their own special 'Miami' personality now that they were on vacation.

Bring it on.

Paht-holes

I actually saw a work men's crew filling in a pothole today on my main road in my neighborhood.  "Hey there!  Watch the paht-hole!" they cautioned as I crossed by on my commute.

I feel like potholes are the thing that cantankerous city-dwellers always complain about and never get fixed.  In New York City they certainly didn't fix them.  Most walkers never would notice since they're easy enough to see and walk around, except of course when they filled with rain water, but as a biker in New York you notice.   And especially when you're riding a 50's cruiser bike through midtown with an old-school basket holding your CD collection on the way to a gig.  And most definitely when you're a driver (though potholes paled in comparison to jaywalkers, one-way streets and cabbies).

Potholes are part of New York's charm.  It adds to the grittiness that New Yorkers love and see slipping away as 42nd street is Disnefied and Alphabet City is more and more Sesame Street friendly.  Ask a New Yorker why potholes don't get fixed and they'd probably tell you to love it or leave it.

But Boston tries to win you over.  Paving pot holes, genuinely apologetic voices from the train conductor when the train is late, countless community gardens, a dozen public ice rinks and folks that excuse themselves when they squeeze themselves next to you on the train.  I love it.  Have I become soft?  Jaded by the self-absorption of all the other cities I've lived in (probably deserved, I admit) and tired of the perfection of LA and the perceived-perfection of grit in NYC?  The laissez faire of everything in Miami?  The self-important politicos of DC?

Is it time for me to settle down?  I think I could not have picked a better place.  Boston is a city that actually wants you.  Their population has shrunk over the last century and the state laments the potential loss of a representative in congress this year.  So many things are meant for sharing here--the gardens, co-ops, large multi-bedroom apartments, zip cars, neighborhood associations. 

And with the disappearance of potholes in my neighborhood, I might just be getting a little comfy.

Survivor

Well, that's it.  I've survived another year.  I ended up living in 6 different cities and sleeping in 22 different beds, couches and futons.  

I had weeks where I dined in fabulous restaurants across the country on my dad's tab.  I had weeks where I'd eat sushi for lunch and dinner.  I also had weeks when I resorted to grits 3 times a day and a power bar for vitamins.  I danced the night away on the beach in Virginia and at house parties in Boston.  I watched the Sunrise in Miami and set in Santa Monica.  I had a live-in boyfriend and I had my Aspen flings.  I just braved 20 degree weather and a 20 minute walk to a New Year's party, though I preferred cruising along the Pacific Coast highway in Malibu last January.

This year was full of stark contrasts.  My life was taken out, flipped over, shaken around, and stirred.  And while it's clear that the scenery changed frequently and dramatically, it'll take some sorting out to figure out how I've changed.

Here's to settling down and figuring it out in 2009.

"When I go abroad I always sail from Boston since it is such a pleasant place to get away from."

-Oliver Herford

Gladly, my new home hasn't inspired these words from me. In fact, I'm considering leaving my parent's in NJ early, I'm so anxious to buy some furniture, put up some photos on the walls and settle in. You would too after 48 hours on the road and in the airports during the holiday rush.

My flight would have been missed either way, but I did experience some luck on my 2 day trek to Boston from Aspen. The last night in Aspen I did my normal revelry, waking up in someone else's bed in someone else's condo. Through a morning haze I glanced at my wrist watch and noticed it was 7:30. The bus to Denver to catch my plane left at 6am.

I ran back to my condo packed in seconds and began racking my brain for plan B to get to Denver while I microwaved some leftover grits. Then my phone rang, "Megan? Are you still here? The bus arrived late. We're going to leave now." The Gods had smiled upon me!

I made it just in time to hop on the back of the line into the bus. I settled in. Eating my grits I had thrown into a paper cup on my way out the door, I thanked my lucky stars. No matter that my name during roll-call elicited some loud boos from the crowd (they had been waiting 2 hours in the cold while I had slept soundly through the alarm)--I was on board!

Of course with the tardiness of the bus and the heavy snow, we all still missed our flights, but at least I didn't have to hitchhike into Denver.

When I finally made it into Boston the next day, the 2 feet of snow there made Aspen pale in comparison. We spent a good long time digging the car out of it's mini-snow mountain. It was all worth it when I lugged my suitcase up the stairs in my beautiful 3-story victorian house--I was home.

Boston, such a pleasant place to come home to.

Road Tripping Photos

I barely had time to blog about this before since I was driving 7-10 hours a day to get across country, but this fall I repeated my cross-country trek. This time going East, I was joined by Dad. We had a good, if tiring time.

Highlights from the Trip and Photos

Driving through Las Vegas during daylight and seeing 3 people getting arrested and an Elvis wedding

Amazing Mexican food in Nevada

Work retreat in Keystone, CO

Listening to RadioLab podcasts with Dad

Chicago! -- staying with Dad in a hostel, drinking and suprise dance night at the Green Mill, Lonley Planet-led walking tour

A tiny diner in Indiana next to an industrial mill

Seeing the great lakes, multiple ones

Reaching Boston!

Tips for Sleeping in Airports

Layer on the sweaters.

Use your scarf as a mat and balls of yarn in your bag as a pillow.

Give crying babies dirty looks and imagine yourself telling them that they're going to rot in hell if they don't shut up.

Find the waiting area where 1/2 the lights are out (near the Continental checkout counter in Denver.)

Just remember that the next night you'll be warm in your own bed (unless of course you're moving into a new 

apartment with no furniture).

Sleep is for the weak!

Worse for the Wear

This year's Aspen was definitely the kind of vacation you need a vacation from.  Luckily, Christmas vacation starts Thursday.  

Unluckily, there are inordinate amounts of work to do.  I have to move my belongings up 3 flights of stairs and I'll likely pull an all-nighter on Tuesday to get all my work done.

I have only a few regrets this year from Aspen.  I should have slept more.  I should have excercised.  I probably should have watched less tv and gone outside to enjoy the place.  There's a few friends that I didn't even know were there until the last day!

The theme of this year's Aspen was pah-tay.  Every night was full of dinner parties, drinks, dancing and a bit of mischieviousness.  While I barely moved from the couch next to the fireplace and tv all day, I kept myself very busy from 9pm-2am every night.  

I happily have figured out the secret to avoiding hangovers, but my nose is runny, my throat is scratchy and my makeshift bed on the airport floor won't be good for making up for lost sleep. 

In the Air (almost)

Of course I can't write this from the air, but I'm sitting right next to gate 18 at the Boston Logan airport.  I think I didn't know what I was missing after flying out and in of Miami, LAX and Denver the past few years. 

Office to Airport: 30 minutes

Check-in and security: 15 minutes

Time left to hang out at the Borders store reading up on Mexico travel and blog: 2 1/2 hours!

Free wifi to boot!

(edited: Turns out not free, I'm just tapping into an unsecure network.  Why the hell is there an unsecure network at the airport?!)

I might just have to take more flights.  

In fact, I'm already planning my next 4 trips--Miami, Montreal, Virginia Beach and Mexico.

Feel free to join me or just give advice!

"Europe will be more fun without you."

As I had hoped, Rick Steves did not disappoint.  He changed his normal talk about Europe traveling tips to his own personal musings on 'Why We Travel.'  Some of it was about why we do travel, but a lot of it was 'Why We Should Travel.'  Especially meaningful in our  protectionist, more narrowly-minded society than ever.  The 21% of us in America with passports have some work to do in bringing cultural understanding to the folks for whom travel is lying on a cruise ship deck to tan.

We should travel because we will understand and be more compassionate of other cultures.  We should we'll learn to appretiate why certain people around the world are incredibly passionate about cheese or cigars--or religion for that matter.  We should travel becuase it will help us realize that other cultures find other truths to be self-evident.  (got that one from Rick)

Much of the material was familiar since I read his blog regularly, but there were some pretty inspiring snippets.  Rick's critique about legislating morality--like marijuana and prostitution--in America, that it doesn't stop people from breaking the law, just makes it more dangerous and wastes tax payer dollars on prison.  His railing against the dumbing down of society by our media and politicians.  

The crowd's favorite moment was when he told us about customers who would write to him that they were no longer going to go on his tours since he promoted 'trying to understand the enemy' (his visit to Iran) and legalizing drugs (decriminalizing marijauana).   His comment, "Well, Europe will be more fun without you," was greeted by loud applause.

Ah, it is good to be back in a city full of progressives.  For the long term I still haven't decided where I should settle down (if I should decide to do so).  Do I like old friends and liberals more than sunny skies and palm trees?  

I think they might be winning me over up here.

Rick's in Town

My favorite travel guru is in Boston this week! Rick Steves is not only an excellent guidebook writer, but a great travel writer, host of an awesome NPR show and a progressive activist.

I saw him speak in California at a travel conference where he railed against all the profit-driven tours that take kick-backs from crappy tourist stores pointing to their booths right outside of his speaking area and then complained about how the media scares people from traveling while there was a big LA Times banned behind his head.

If you're in the Boston area, check it out:

Rick Steves at the Globe Bookstore

This Thursday at 5pm

90 Mt. Auburn St.

Harvard Square

Jersey Days, Philly Nights

I've continued my lazy streak now that I'm home for Thanksgiving. Since getting off the election campaign, I've done nothing but watch tv and sleep. I've got a million friends in Boston I haven't seen in ages and all I want to do is watch 'CSI: Miami' and sleep 10 hours. Part of me chides myself for my laziness, the other part drags me back under the covers.

Thanksgiving night I slept 12 hours, so I think I might be caught up now and am ready to be back to my exploring self. Last night I went into the city (meaning Philadelphia for us South Jersey people) to see a show with the folks. We tried to get a table for 45 minutes at Monk's to no avail. In the meantime we tasted a lot of good beers from their 60+ beer menu, including my new favorite 1809 Berliner Style Weiss Beir. Without a dinner, we took in a show at the Walnut--Hairspray--which was incredibly corny and didn't hold a candle to either of the cult classic movies, but still thoroughly enjoyable.

Today we're taking Dad into the city again for his birthday to do a tour of the Philadelphia Brewing Company. Word has it is that he took a tour of a brewery in Atlanta with the sister and loved it, probably more for the free beer than the beer-knowledge though.

I'm glad I've had a chance to give Philly a second chance since childhood. When I was a kid we'd take our yearly trip to walk South Street with mom, an occasional visit to the Franklin Institute and of course the Christmas spectaculcar at the downtown department stores. When I was a teen we'd get cheesesteaks at midnight on all the high holidays. (The biggest act of rebellion for my jewish friends was eating bread and meat and cheese together on Rosh Hashanah.) We'd drive to the art museum and run up the steps like Rocky. Later on I'd go in for a swing dance every once in a while.

But there's a lot more to the city. Yes, cheesesteaks, the Philadelphia Art Museum and the Libery Bells are must-sees (and eats) when you're visiting the city and still won't get old, but it's great to discover the neighborhoods. Shopping on Walnut is a lot better than South Street. Eating at Ludwig's is more of a dinner experience than Pat's & Geno's. Hanging out at Tattooed Mama's with friends or catching a jazz jam at Ortlieb's will beat out the regular diners for a night out. There's a lot of art--the city's buildings are covered with murals (2,800!). There's a lot of community too.

And best of all, there's no attitude. Unlike DC and NYC, you get the feeling that no one is out to impresss anyone. What a great feeling! I probably won't have a chance to live there, but it's nice to visit home and such a great city each holiday.

Newly in New England

I arrived in my new home of Boston yesterday and prompty left for Vermont. I'm here to help organize a conference with my new organization, the Toxics Action Center.

Vermont must be one of the most beautiful places in the country. I must have just missed New England's famous autumns since the trees are bare--but the ground everywhere is covered with bright leaves. The mountains here aren't quite the "Green Mountain" spectacle I remember camping in in childhood, but still gorgeous. Rolling mountains tug on my heart more than the jutting, rocky peaks of the West. Perhaps because of that childhood connection.

The sky is also grey and swirling. I remember when I moved to Miami how every day I would look up at the sky and marvel at it's beauty, wondering why I never really noticed it before. I thought myself a little silly for staring up with a silly grin a lot of the time when I was canvassing. I see now why--up North the sky only shows it's full glory a few months of the year and the rest of the year it peaks out occasionally.

But back to Vermont. It's adorable. Driving through the state reminded me a lot of driving the Romantic Road in Germany. As I sped by the exit signs I imagined them saying "Ausgang-Pfaffenwinkel" or "Ausgang-Creglingen." Each town was tucked into a mini-valley with just a few buildings, some barns and a tall church spire. Montpelier, the state capital is no more than a few roads, with yes a tall church spire, but also a gold-domed capitol building. Otherwise you'd have idea that the important business of the state goes on here.

On the Road Again

Now that I’m off the campaign I’m back on traveling for pleasure instead of business.  My first trip is a big one.  Wednesday I flew back to Los Angeles.   I think the city didn’t want me to leave as much as I didn’t want to—it took me a full hour to get out with the giant knot of traffic  that was tying up the roads. 

The rest of California was pretty uneventful.  The buzz around the election was still audible.  I overheard the gas station attendant and an older African-American lpady debate where one could find a copy of the LA Times from the day after the election.  Apparently  peole were stealing them off neighbor’s lawns and copies were going on ebay for hundreds. 

The terrain grew less and less lush as I continued, until I finally hit Las Vegas.  Perhaps this place once held some kind of hedonistic charm back in the rat pack days, but today it looks like one big neon covered construction site.  I detoured off the highway to drive through the downtown and saw no less than 3 people getting arrested.  I also cruised by the Elvis chapel which was surrounded by an Elvis-dressing wedding party. 

I underestimated the toll that 14 hours of driving takes on one, especially after a 100 hour work week.  By the time I turned east toward the mountains in Utah, the sun was setting.  I had lost an hour with the time zone change and my eyes were growing weary.  I refilled my coffee cup for the 5^th time, which wasn’t anything new since giving myself over to caffeine weeks ago.  It got really bad as the snow started.  The weather combined with the feeling that the curvy roads could send me off the cliff at any moment erased any of the relaxing benefits from the Korean health spa. 

When I made it to the resort I had missed most of the fun.  As I was dragging my suitcase to my condo I spotted several groups of drunk campaign workers stumbling back to their rooms.  So I did the same, snuggling up gratefully in my bed.

Keystone was more relaxing after 8 hours of sleep.  I spent my afternoon drinking a thick Malbec and floating around the hot tub.  That night I joined the party at a local Mexican joint, danced like crazy and rang up a modest tab.  One day in Keystone was definitely not enough.   Tucked in a nook in the mountains with steep, tree-covered slopes rising on every side, I felt worlds away from the suburban stretches of Colorado Springs.  Being surrounded by smart, political, hip people probably did just as much to ease the tension I had built up from canvassing ridiculous undecided voters and dealing with less-than-bright staff.

My early morning wake up shake was later than I wanted to get started, but probably earlier than my body could handle.  (I have to figure out how to kick this hang-over problem I’ve gotten in old-age.)   I picked up my dad at the Denver airport and after a brief reunion, we set out.  Colorado really is beautiful—both the mountains up close and the snowy caps in the rearview mirror. 

Nebraska is, well, beautiful for a time, but 8 hours of wheat fields can be tiring.  Our one detour turned out to be a big disappointment for Dad.  The Great Platte River Archway.   The Archway during the day, I imagine from the large parking lots and bus lanes, is swarmed by children and tourists coming to learn about all the folks that have traversed the Great Plains—from settlers to cowboys.  I had a feeling there was a reason all these travelers kept going, so we did too. 

We ended the night in Lincoln.  Seeing the state capital building glowing across the wheat fields, we headed to ‘downtown’ to the Haymarket.  I was surprised to see a gorgeous old renovated factory district.  It was a Sunday night so the bars were fairly deserted, but there was a trio of bustling coffee indy coffee houses.  After dinner it would have been nice to curl up in a comfy chair in one of them, but my eyes were so droopy by this point, that I don’t think even my beloved coffee could pick me up.    

Place Matters

Well, it's done.  We won it.  Colorado got shifted over to the blue column.  Colorado Springs remains a republican county, but there's a stronger progressive element there now.  My hope is that we can keep them connected, keep it building, and make it stronger.  And hopefully Focus on the Family realizes it isn't the only game in town now!

But oh, am I glad I am out of there.  I used to think of myself as mutable and able to find my favorite things about any city I've lived in.  East coasters marvelled at how I enjoyed dirty, crowded LA, but I loved it!  Northerners were shocked I could withstand the brashness and humidity of Miami, but I reveled in it.  Miamians wondered how anyone could live where there was snow half the year, but I enjoyed Boston.  

But now I see that not all places are suitable for living.  I think I just lucked out on all the wonderful cities I've been placed in up until now--New York, Philadelphia, DC, Boston, Miami, LA.  I fell in love with each of those cities.  But Colorado is a whole other matter.  I also saw how my entire personna is completely affected by the place I live.  

It started with NYC.  I became more progressive, involved in the arts, developed my sense of style and a love of diversity.  In DC I was completely politicized.   In Miami I let loose, wearing clothes I would have been shocked to see on anyone else up north, hanging out until late at Tapas bars and dancing salsa with strangers.  LA's neighborhoods brought together the universal influence that I loved making me learn Spanish and Korean and spending my weekends visiting historical sites and art museums.

In Colorado (and Virginia to a lesser extent) I was different.  My heart wasn't in it--not in the place I was living, and hence not as much in my work.  I still worked ridiculously hard, but without the enthusiasm and charisma I typically employ.  

Landing in LA I changed.   Winning the election had made me happy, but didn't thrill me like it did to so many of my friends around the country.  But when I walked out of the metro on Wilshire Blvd., I felt so much emotion, I was overwhelmed.  I wanted to shout for joy.  Finally I felt at home and happy.  They were the same emotions I had expected when we won the election, but somehow had been unable to surface in the misery of being unhappy in a particular place.

I feel so much better now.  Today I am working out of the LA office and I took some of the best job calls and did some of the best interviews I've ever done in my life.  I did a great indy with one of the ADs and helped out with turfs.  Even though I wasn't supposed to be helping, I was so excited to be back here that I was excited to do the work.  It felt great to be doing campaign work again.

So my lesson learned is that place does matter to me.  I was once given advice to pick my career moves based on great opportunities, not location, but I see now that will never work for me.  As I look into the future I'm keeping an eye out for opporuntities that will match with where I want to be, even if it's not the most politically import.  I will have the biggest impact when I like where I am.  Now that I'm preparing to leave LA to head east I hope Boston will give me the same energy as being here has. 

Stay tuned for updates on the road as I drive East.