Hey everyone~

I know.

I’m blogging.

I won’t lie, it feels awkward and impersonal.

But I FIGURED, given my distaste of the celly telly, this’d be a kosher way to keep up with you.

So welcome to “anna-away,” home of the anna-updates during the anna-scursions and anna-xperiences. Please comment, drop me a line, etc!

Soooo…I’m in Boston. It’s officially been a week and 4 days. I’ve negotiated a sublet in Somerville, which is a few blocks away from Tufts University. Dan is in tow, splitting a petite room with me. It’s painted electric yellow with an orange stripe around the perimeter, which has a way of surprising you awake in the morning. The floors are worn hardwood, streaked with sloppy, dry paint: I like the idea that we’ve inherited an artist’s pad. The apartment is awkward and in a HUGE house, shared with undergrads and grads alike (during the school year). There’re 4 bedrooms, although only one other person is here with us (and he’s moving out in a few weeks). He’s a grad from Syracuse in Art History he now works at the Museum of Fine Arts. He’s interesting, approachable, and amiable, though seems much like a pubescent lad coming to grips with his newly developed angular, gawky body. Though he’s like, 24, he was that way about him. I hope to see more of him, but he works full time at the MFA, but by the time we get home he’s curled up with a beer and either a movie or the latest sports game—it seems sacrilegious to interrupt either reverent ritual.

I’m SUPER excited about my internship with the Association for Independents in Radio. I’ve been assisting a friend from Salt (she’s now the membership director) with administrative stuff, cleaning up the website, etcetc (when we’re not gossiping about public radio). Soon, though, I’m supposed to curate of showcase of the AIR membership community work, which I think entails researching, writing reviews, and a whole lotta listening to radio! I’ve recently been able to sink my teeth (and fingers and ears) into production once again by collecting the “sounds of summer” and editing them underneath the monthly AIRmuse (an audio announcement/briefer sent out to the membership community at large)…It’s been far too long, I’d forgotten how easy it is to lose oneself in the power of sound manipulation, perfectionism and whimsy. Dang…The office is the best part: It’s literally one room on the second floor of the, of all things, Vietnamese Community center. There are 2 desks, 4 chairs, 1 stool, 1 bookcase, 3 file cabinets, 1 yellowing fern, 1 AC unit, and 6 windows. Every 8 minutes or so the redline trains a few paces away mosey back and forth heading inbound and outbound to Boston, respectively. We listen to that and a Hawaiian grassroots radio station via satellite radio, both of which mingle quite nicely…I’ll write more about the specifics of my internship later—I can already tell this’ll be a somewhat lengthy installment…

Dan and I survived our first weekend in the city, which we spent much the same as we’ve been spending all of our free time—exploring! We trekked over to the legendary Haymarket market, where we remarkably spent the better part of $6 on 2 mangoes, 5 limes, 2 plantains, 1 papaya, 1 cantaloupe, and 6 bananas. Given, the papaya looked as if someone had taken advantage of it, and the bananas were rather ripe…But DANG. I’d never HEARD of this amazing phenomenon until arriving in Boston, and I’m glad to have experienced it. After researching it and reading patron reviews online, I was wrought with trepidation, to say the least. People warned of the unfriendly vendor attitudes (one enterprising suggestion entailed flipping them the bird and telling them to “fuckoff!”: to each his own). I’m pretty sure the market is comprised solely of the recently expired produce of local groceries, which is passed on to grudging workers made to sell the goods for obscenely long hours. Needless to say, I was beaming with smiles and cordial out the ass to offset any crabby interactions. I guess it worked.

The other half of Saturday we dedicated to Allandale Farm, Boston’s only surviving farm. I think it took us about 2.5 hours via each way, but I don’t regret it (FYI, the secret to public transportation is a captivatingly long book—I recommend On Beauty by Zadie Smith, which I just finished…In a pinch, madlibs will do, as well)! It’s a cutecutecute nursery/food stand operation. Aside from the haven of gardening tools we found a gorgeous spread of local/homegrown produce as well as bakery products and local honeys, cheeses, meats, you name it! We stockpiled some grapes, peppers, cukes, brussel sprouts, and called it a day. Not too shabby.

A few nights ago, Heidi and Paul (some family friends from Boston) treated us to a scrumptious evening at The Beehive, a swanky nightspot in the South End. In honor of Bastille Day the restaurant hosted a Bastille Celebration and went all out: Costumed hostesses, French pop music and a live band, red baretts and scarves for all attendees, and a themed menu. Of course it wouldn’t be an American tribute to the French without the badly worn requisite powder wigs (reminiscent of stereotypical aristocracy) and an anachronistic man in a bow-tied frog suit. Mon Dieu.

But it was a hip-hopping place, very intimate given its spacious size: Heidi appropriately described it as a dated WWII cabaret joint. The food didn’t particularly wow my socks off, but the company, spirits, atmosphere and vibe were all fabulous.

We’re still in job-search mode, but I’ve pretty much thrown in the towel. What I actually meant when I mentioned above that we’ve spent our free time exploring was that we’ve been haunting the pages of craigslist (refreshpagerefreshpagerefreshpage) and skittering off to hand over applications to any potential employer. The order can be traced thus—Whole Foods, café, café, Whole Foods, café, Whole Foods, local co-op, café, café, café. Unfortunately no one is hiring any summer-only staff, and I can’t ethically lie on the application that I’ll be here through the fall. The betrayal just isn’t in me. But the good news is that I can make myself indispensable to AIR. I’m also considering volunteering at the local YMCA, as well as a Dance cooperative (called the Dance Complex) in exchange for some classes! I’m going to take a drop-in class tomorrow to scope it out.

Dan has agreed to an environmental canvassing job of sorts, which is where he is right now. The hours are lousy (2pm-10pm), but the pay is agreeable. Here’s hoping he won’t wake me up to rant about when he gets back. We’ll see…

Signing off.