Category Archives: GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself)

A love letter to Dunkin’ Donuts

Posted in GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself) by

Before I moved to Boston for college in 2004, I had of course been to this iconic food establishment before. But in my house, we didn’t eat many donuts, if anything, we got bagels from the Wegmans freezer section, and if I wanted to go get coffee, it would usually be a sit down coffee shop like Java’s or The Spot.

But it all changed when I moved into my dorm room, which not only was smack in the middle of Boston, but there was a Dunkin Donuts at the bottom of the building. I lived on the eighth floor, and when I took the elevator down and walked down a flight of stairs, there was an entrance specifically for the Little Building into the DDs.

IMG_2627

The building I lived in my freshman and sophomore year of college. Dunks in the bottom left. Sigh.

This place was my savior. No time to go to the DH for breakfast? Dunks. Afternoon coffee pick me up? Dunks. Late night ice cream? Dunks (because there was also a small Baskin Robbins there too).

What I didn’t really learn until I lived in Boston was that DDs is a long-revered legacy in New England. It was started in Massachusetts, and practically one on every block. My good friend Caitlin, who is from a town on the outskirts of Boston proper in Medford, has told me that in her town alone, there was a point where there were 15 DDs. 15 stores for a town that has a land area of about 8 miles! I think that’s a fair telling of how much people in New England love this place.

But if you have any qualms about the quality of this fast food establishment, I would like to bend your brain a bit. Yes they have good donuts. But what their real forte is is the coffee. The bevs in general really. Me? Medium French Vanilla with cream and sugar. In the summer, the iced version, which is what I dream of most days. Occasionally I’ll spring for the vanilla chai or hot chocolate. Dunkacinnos if I felt the need to splurge. DDs is so much more than donuts.

Bagels? Croissants? Sandwiches made from those items? Hash browns? There was a period of time where my friend Devin and I would drool over their waffle breakfast sandwich. Sounds disgusting but actually quite good.

So here’s the problem. I moved to Los Angeles in the fall of 2009, knowing full well that there are no DDs out here. The last time Meghan and I had DDs iced coffee on our road trip out to LA was the saddest.

This is Stanley. He followed us on all our adventures across the U.S., but more importantly made sure no one stole our last iced coffees for the next few months.

Literally, we have to drive all the way to LAS VEGAS in order to go to Dunks (Yes, I’m aware there is one on Camp Pendelton, but ugh, security stuff). As much fun as that city is, it’s not as easy of a commute as it was going down and elevator and into a special side entrance at the Little Building.

When Bostonian transplants in LA try to tell natives here how amazing DDs is, they don’t understand. My aunt once said to me that there was one in Los Angeles. HA! Pray tell, where is this magical Dunks you speak of, because according to the 10 million times I’ve checked the restaurant locator on their website, it says there are none within a 50 mile radius of my zip code. And also, don’t try to tell me that Starbucks or Yum Yum donut shops (yes, that’s the real name) are the same. They’re absolutely not.

Even celebs who hail from Boston, like smokeshow/Captain America Chris Evans can’t resist it, and my boy John Krasinski has even lobbied for a Dunks here in Los Angeles (as for now, to no avail. Can’t believe his infectious charm didn’t work on the CEOs).

You know what the worst part is? It’s that the DDs advertisers thought it would a good idea to show their commercials here in California. Yeah, I get that they still sell packaged coffee in grocery stores, but when you’re showing me a :30 second advertisement of a cinnamon raisin bagel with your new cinnamon cream cheese, I literally find myself salivating over it. Not cool.

But alas, going home to the east coast means of course getting to see my friends and family, but it also means getting to drink a steaming hot cup of french vanilla coffee with cream and sugar. It always tastes that much better after not having it in a long time.

So I can use every cliche in the book, ‘You don’t know what you have until it’s gone’, ‘Good things come to those who wait’, ‘Patience is a virtue’, etc. etc. But one day, just maybe, I can use ‘America Runs on Dunkin’ in the way it’s really meant to be used.

UPDATE: AS OF JANUARY 16, 2013, DUNKIN DONUTS ANNOUNCED THEY ARE OFFICIALLY EXPANDING THE FRANCHISE INTO LOS ANGELES!! OUR PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED!! IN 2015, I WILL BE HITTING UP EVERY SINGLE DDS IN THE SOCAL AREA, WHO WILL JOIN ME?!

Things My Mom Has Said To Her 26-Year-Old Daughter

Posted in GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself) by

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I wanted to. These were all things told to me during a recent trip home.

– “What do you remember from your childhood?”

All of it? A specific time frame? A particular event you care about? Give me something.

– “Do Mormons celebrate Christmas?”

This question posed while we’re watching the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sing Christmas songs on their Christmas Eve TV Special.

– “Traci doesn’t know how to dunk bread into coffee.”

Loose Filipino/Tagalog translation

– “Did Jennifer get married?” Me: “Jennifer Who?” Mom: “Jennifer Aniston.”

Ok, in her defense, a picture of her face flashed across the movie screen, but I’m not on a first name basis with the woman.

– “Is Sarah pregnant yet?”

Sarah is Molls’ and my good friend who got married 2 years ago, but no one should ever ask this question about anybody. 

– As we’re passing by the lingerie section in Kohl’s: “Do you need to buy panties?”

UGHHH. This is clearly self explanatory.

– “Were you scared?”

Re: my flight being delayed in deplaning because the jetbridge was malfunctioning so they had to tow us to the next gate over. My answer was obviously no, because it wasn’t the first time I’d ever been on a plane. You know what I was scared of? The two children and three adults in a 5ft radius of me that sneezed and coughed the entirety of my 6 hour flight. It was like the world’s worst game of Minesweeper.

Bonus Dad statements:

– “What do you eat for breakfast?” Me: IDK, eggs, toast, bagels… Him, incredulously: “Do you make it??”

– While on the phone with my aunt/his sister: “He was wearing flip flops… like ‘beach walk’.

WHAT. Again, loose Filipino/Tagalog translation.

The Theater Angel

Posted in GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself) by
Wang Theatre

Wang Theatre

One year for lent I decided that instead of giving something up, I’d do one nice deed for someone each day. I did well for the first week or so, but then I kind of made stuff up as the days went on. Like, “I said ‘thank you’ to the T driver, so that definitely counts as my good deed.” I found it surprisingly hard to go out of my normal routine to find a nice thing to do.

But one day, I was the recipient of the ultimate act of kindness, and it was something I will never forget.

The year was 2009, I was still living in Boston, and my good pal Brian and I went on one of our regular dates to the theater, because spending time together working at a theater meant needing to go out and enjoy it once in a while. Per usual, we opted for the lowest priced tickets to see The Color Purple at the Wang Theater. Now the Wang is one of the largest, oldest, and most majestic venues in Boston. Marble, chandeliers, and epic staircases – actually, we had our commencement in that very theater.

Anyways, we made our way up to the balcony – not the complete nosebleed seats – but high enough. We got settled in, looked through our programs, noticed LaToya London from S3 of American Idol was in it, laughed at that fact as one would, and I broke open my bag of CVS peach ring candy that I hid in my purse.

Just as Brian was reaching across and into my lap for the prohibited candy, a man came up to us asking if we wanted tickets to sit in the orchestra. B and I looked at each other quizzically, then at the man the same way. He was tall, dark, and handsome, yes, in a cliche way. He had a great smile and I asked if he was serious. He said “Yes, absolutely. Come follow me down and I’ll explain.”

Obviously the appropriate response to this was to follow the good looking stranger down, because we clearly won’t be killed just before watching The Color Purple, as I assume people have some courtesy when it comes to uplifting African-American musicals. As he was walking us down, he nodded to the ushers to say, “They’re with me,” in an extremely VIP way. I looked behind me at B and gave him the “WTF” face and responded with a “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON, BUT I LIKE IT” face right back. Theater Angel, as we dubbed him, led us down to the orchestra, probably about 10 rows from the stage, which you know cost the big bucks. He guided us to our seats, sat us down next to this pretty woman who turned out to be his date, and said, “Good seats, right?”

Um, yes sir. He explained that the first time he ever went to the theater was with his mother as a kid. They couldn’t afford expensive seats, so they always sat in the balcony, where the cheapo seats were, aka where we were sitting. But it was that first show that made him fall in love with theater. He continued going to play after play, made a career out of his passion, and now has become successful in the industry. Theater angel said, “One time, a man came up to me and offered me tickets to the orchestra. It changed my life. And I promised myself, that when I had enough money to buy not one pair but another pair of tickets, I would go up to the balcony and give a couple of people the opportunity I never had growing up, and sit near the front next to all the action. I’m paying it forward.”

I could’ve cried right there and then. But I had to keep it together, and could only mutter out thank you over and over again, just as the lights were dimming for the show to start. I remember we used our box office skills to find out his name via the ticket stubs, and we found our guy. Basically, he turned out to be some big shot theater producer, so clearly he had enough money to use on us.

I’ll never forget our theater angel, and the extremely random act of kindness bestowed upon us that day. If I ever have the opportunity to do so, I will absolutely bring some crazy candy munching theatergoers up to the good seats. Because who knows, one random act of kindness might actually change their lives.

Retitled: What High School Required Reading Books Should Have Been Called, According To My 17-Year-Old Self

Posted in GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself), Lists by

Wakefield High School Summer Reading

If you reach into the shadowy recesses of your memory, brush off the cobwebs, and are over the age of 22 or so, you probably remember taking class notes longhand. If so, you are lucky, because there’s a good chance that some of your high school musings have made it into this millennium. Unless you are one of those people who actually backs up all of their work on a flash drive or has had the same computer for a very long time, your electronic files probably haven’t survived so long.

I recently came across a notebook I kept in high school English. I was preparing for the AP Lit exam, and made a list of books I’d read that I could discuss in the essays. In brackets, I wrote a short summary (maybe 5-10 words) to jog my memory of the book. I can’t help but think that these would make excellent alternate titles.

I got a 5 on that AP, making this the best study method ever.

Here are some of my favorites:

The Great Gatsby: [Good Parties and Car Crashes]

The Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man: [Run-On Sentences That Don’t Make Sense (Irish)]

The Once And Future King: [Probably Interesting If You’re Into D&D]

The Catcher In The Rye: [Whiney Bitch Gets Kicked Out Of School]

The Bell Jar: [Mad Electroshock]

Something Wicked This Way Comes: [Watched The Movie Instead]

The Crucible: [I Saw Goody __ With The Devil! (POPPETS)]

Great Expectations: [Cobwebbed Wedding Cake & Unrequited Love]

Wuthering Heights: [Moors (Geographic)]

Othello: [Moors (Ethnic)]

The Scarlet Letter: [Mores (Social)]

Death Of A Salesman: [Salesman Totally Dies]

One Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich: [Reading It Felt Like 10 Years In The Life Of Me]

Seriously, You Guys, Catholic School Was Fine

Posted in GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself) by

At a party in college, a friend from my city asked me about the high school in my suburb. “Well, I lived there, but I actually went to Catholic school.”
“Oh God,” he answered, “I’m sorry.”

But the thing is? I’m not sorry at all. People sometimes assume that, because I grew up into a politically liberal adult who likes outfits, my Catholic school years were probably unbearable — a wasteland of conservative repression and hideous uniforms. Or that since I don’t regularly go to a Catholic church these days, I’ve probably turned against it and am all bitter about it.[1] It’s true that I could go my whole life without wearing another jumper or hearing On Eagles’ Wings[2] again, but for the most part, it was a pretty non-traumatic way to grow up. Here are some misconceptions I’ve run across, and how things actually played out for me:

A nun named Sister William Gerald[3] probably hit you with rulers. First of all, most of my teachers weren’t nuns. They were middle-aged married women[4] wearing adult jumpers. And the nuns that were there were actually pretty nice, usually. True, they didn’t take crap from anyone, but generally in a typical old-lady sense. And I’d be stern too, if I were them. My piano lessons were in the convent, and they had the saddest, smallest, antennaed black and white t.v. – and this was in the mid-90s. Vow of poverty and all that. I mean, you all know how we feel about t.v. around here, right?  Also they had to listen to 6-year-olds play Hot Cross Buns and Ode To Joy all day long. They had a tiny chapel with stained glass windows in the convent, and that was pretty cool, though. But having my own personal, tiny church would not make up for a sub-par television experience. I guess that’s what you get for marrying a famous guy who is also invisible (read: Jesus).

You were denied self-expression because you had to wear uniforms. This probably is just me being a nerd, but I loved my plaid uniform. I liked that I didn’t have to think about what to wear every day. Before a dress-down day, I would look through my entire wardrobe and consult with 2-3 friends by telephone to plan my outfit. There is no way I could have handled that pressure on a daily basis. In retrospect, it was nice that you never knew which kids had tons of nice clothes and which ones didn’t.  Everyone, rich or poor, tall or short, fat or thin, had an equal opportunity to look shapeless and terrible. In terms of creative expression, I had things like crayons and school plays, you know? I creatively expressed myself through clothing in my off-hours, and let me tell you, the results were less than spectacular. Lots of stirrup pants, really, as was the style of the time.

By first grade, this uniform hadn’t stopped me from becoming 39 lbs of concentrated sass.

Your teachers were unqualified, and you only learned about Jesus(/Mary/Joseph). This is the only misconception that I take sort of personally: first of all, I know I received a really good education, and second, my mother is mega-educated and is a Catholic school principal. All of our teachers had masters degrees, just like yours. The graduation standards of my high school were well above my state’s regents diploma. I started college credit courses my sophomore year, and I think senior year was an all-AP schedule for me. I swear we learned about evolution and all of that.[5] We just had religion classes on top of it. This paid off in college, when I entertained friends with Bible Story Time With Molly, where I’d share ridiculous, gruesome, or filthy stories that actually appear in the Bible. In high school I developed a theory that some of that stuff was written by ancient Israelites who ate bad desert mushrooms, etched their musings on stone tablets, then stashed them in a bunch of holy scrolls where they assumed nobody would ever look.

My former elementary is now a public school, but there’s still a cross on top, which I guess is allowed??

You didn’t know about any other religions. In college, I remember meeting classmates and friends who had gone to public school and didn’t know the difference between Catholics and Protestants (or “Catholics and Christians,” as a few maintained that the two were mutually exclusive. Ugh.). I’m not saying that public schools do a bad job of teaching about world religions, I’m just saying that going to one is no guarantee that you are better-informed than a Catholic schooler. My schools did a great job teaching about other religions, and my class even had an awesome partnership with students at a school in Israel. I’d also like to point out that (1) not everyone in my school was Catholic, or even Christian, and (2) like public schoolers, I had … you know, neighbors and friends from outside of school and stuff.

Those were the kids who got beat up in my neighborhood. Yep … okay, yeah. I can’t refute that, because that’s potentially very true. On Sundays, public school kids from our church used to use our classrooms for religious ed. Those punks used to mess with our desks every single week! They even left the cover off of our incubator when we were hatching baby chickens. Luckily the teacher checked on them right after, so no harm there. We were so pathetic that we got out our big classroom chart paper and wrote them a letter asking them to please stop taking our things, if you don’t mind.

1 I would absolutely go to a friendly, non-judgmental church! But do I have to memorize the new mass responses?
2 On Eagles’ Wings is engineered to make people cry at funerals, and vows that God will “make you to shine like the sun,” like a new car or a Twilight vampire.

This song was part of the “contemporary” Catholic music movement of the 70s and 80s. Usually this kind of music is performed by a “folk group,” which is comprised of 4-7 elderly people, one of whom has a guitar. All of the ladies have wavery old-lady church voices. In many churches, the “folk group” is still a “hip” attempt to “reach out to the youth.”

3 My parents have verified that, in the ‘50s and ‘60s, nuns with men’s names were all-around more terrifying that nuns with ladies’ names. So, if your substitute was Sr. Damian Louis, you knew you were worse off than if you had Sr. Margaret Elizabeth.
4 One time someone asked if my mom was a nun since she’s always worked in Catholic schools, and I was all, I don’t think you really get how this nun thing works…
5 In the interest of transparency, our health class was lacking. It was one semester long, and sex ed was basically just graphic descriptions of STIs, and a warning that condoms had tiny holes for AIDS to get through (maybe it was just my teacher? When talking about the id he pronounced it “the I.D.”. He was only on staff because he was a coach, and I think this kind of thing happens at public schools too, maybe? I am basing this opinion entirely off of Mean Girls.) That lasted for about a week, and the rest of the time we watched outdated TV movies about Tracy Gold overcoming things. On a related note, there were like 3-4 pregnant girls my senior year.

Live Blog: Jet Blue Virgin

Posted in GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself), Live Blogs by

On my recent trip home to Rochester for Christmas, I took Jet Blue for the first time on my way back to Los Angeles. I’m a frequent American Airlines, U.S. Air, Virgin America flier, so taking an airline that many people I know rave about was exciting for me. Little did I know it was going to be this exciting.

2:15pm Making my usual last stop to get coffee and snacks before going to the land without Dunkin’ Donuts.

2:30pm Don’t have a seat. Need to check in with desk at gate. Hoping it’s on the aisle and not in the exit row.

2:50pm Get to my seat. It’s on the aisle – in an exit row.

2:55pm There’s a dog barking somewhere. It sounds small. It’s not stopping.

3:01:10pm Guy comes on and has a seat diagonal from me. Looks vaguely familiar. Comedian of some sort. Need to keep sneakily looking at him for clues as to his identity.

3:01:20pm Woman follows shortly behind and also looks familiar. Realize it’s Kathy Najimy of Hocus Pocus and Sister Act fame. Sister Mary Patrick goes too far back, and her daughter, holding a California flag iPhone case, tells her to come back. Confirms it’s SMP. Put together that generic comedian guy is SMP’s hubby.

Cover of "Sister Act"

Whoopi Goldberg, NOT Kathy Najimy

3:10pm My TV isn’t working. Ugh. Have to look around at surrounding televisions for entertainment.

3:11pm Generic Comedian Guy is checking is Facebook, and I see that his first name is Dan. Finally recognize him as Dan from The Dan Band .

3:12pm Amy, one of our flight attendants, comes to give us the Exit Row speech. She also does the safety instructions directly in front of my person, and for the first time in a while, I actually pay attention. We take off.

3:15pm Wondering when it’s a good time to tell Amy about my dysfunctional TV.

3:17pm Wondering why SMP was in ROC in the first place.

3:25pm Amy and her co-attendant Sarah start coming down the aisle with bevs and snacks. FREE SNACKS? Jet Blue is great.

3:26pm Decline free snacks.

3:28pm Sarah recognizes SMP and crouches down to tell her something. All I hear is “I love that movie.”  Then she goes to Dan and crouches again and says, “I recognize you too… Are you a comedian? The singing one? What’s your name again? Oh yeah Dan Band!” oh my gah Sarah, smh in second hand embarrassment. You’re not a Los Angeles or NYC based flight crew, are you?

3:30pm Decline free bev – tell Sarah about dysfunctional television, she slams my armrest up and down (high-tech stuff, guys). She apologizes, says we’re a full flight, otherwise she would move me. Offers a free alcoholic beverage or a voucher. I also decline alc. I just wanted to watch TV, really.

3:32pm Play Kelly Clarkson’s Catch My Breath four times in a row on my iPod.

3:36pm Sarah comes back to give me and my seatmate a $15 voucher since the TVs don’t work. The first time I ever voluntarily speak to the person sitting next to me on a flight, I say, “Good thing I said something, huh?” Seatmate gave me a thumbs up.

3:45pm Take note of programs I’m missing because of janky TV: House Hunters, iCarly, the history of donuts, Seinfeld, Dr. Phil, and some rando TV therapist named Bill with a large black woman definitely doing the z snap with head move to some other irate woman.

3:46pm Really wishing there was a Boingo hotspot on this plane (for free) so I could watch The West Wing.

3:47pm Overthinking why anyone would name a wireless airline hotspot ‘Boingo’

3:50pm Sarah comes back to Dan, and he goes to the back of the plane with her. Really wishing I could see what happened back there, but I’m assuming she took a picture with him. S.M.H.

3:59pm Why doesn’t Jet Blue have SkyMall? That’s like, the best part of flying.

4:01pm We start our descent. Thinking about investing in motion sickness meds, even though I’ve always been ok. But I’m getting old, and on the way to ROC, there was a lot of turbulence and I almost vommed (kinda like the six year old girl behind me on that flight).

4:11pm The dog barks as soon as we touchdown. And a baby starts crying. Good timing, people.

4:15pm Get into Jet Blue’s rad JFK terminal. I lost SMP and Dan, hoping they’ll be on my flight to LAX.

4:40pm Check iMDb and apparently Dan is from Bath, NY (small town near Roc), AND AND AND he went to Emerson (the college I went to)!! Def going to try to strike up convo if they’re on my flight.

4:45pm Spend the next four hours blogging, drinking as much Dunkin Donuts’ iced coffee as humanly possible, all while watching The West Wing. Sans Boingo hotspot.

Friend Request Denied

Posted in GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself) by

Here’s a question: Would you accept the Facebook friend request of someone you went to high school with (EIGHT YEARS AGO), but they never once spoke to you whilst in high school, nor even gave you the time of day because they were too busy hanging out with the “cool kids”? Also, they’re really tall and dumb (He once stole Molly’s Senior Shirt from gym. Thanks to some Veronica Mars style detective skills, she figured out it was him and he claimed he found the petite women’s shirt in the lost and found. He’s like, 6’5″ tall. Molly – not 6’5″ tall).

Asking for a friend.

‘Parks And Recreation’: A Love Letter To The Hometown

Posted in Entertainment, GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself) by

After I graduated law school, I found a job in the legal profession (!) … in my hometown. Here I am, back where it all began.

English: City of Rochester, New York.

I hope you like that bridge because it took about 10 years to finish. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am from Rochester, New York. There are far worse places that you could live. In fact, as a pretty humble city, I suggest that Rochester adopts “there are far worse places that you could live” as its slogan. It has less violent crime than Detroit (Detroit has many fine attributes, like motown), lower average yearly snowfall than Anchorage (AND ten other U.S. Cities!), and, with over a million people in the Rochester metropolitan area, is by far the largest Rochester in the United States. George Eastman (founder of Kodak), Frederick Douglass, Susan B. Anthony, and Kristen Wiig have all called this city home. (A Marie Claire profile of Wiig referred to Rochester as a “suburban backwater,” which was a little harsh for a city with so many fine cultural institutions.)  Did I mention that the National Museum of Play is here, too?

But this piece isn’t about Rochester, this is about hometowns, and living in yours as an adult — whether you’re from a mid-sized city, a mega-metropolis, or a small town. There’s a tendency, I think, to feel like if you live where you did at 14, maybe the rest of your life has become stagnant, too (you know, like a suburban backwater?). It’s easy to fear becoming that former varsity athlete who works at the same gas station he did senior year, reliving his glory days. Luckily for me, I was never very good at anything in high school, so that’s not really a danger. I don’t think appearing in the chorus of high school musicals and playing second doubles in tennis counts as “glory days” by any standard.

One bright spot if you find yourself back in your place of birth is the NBC series Parks and Recreation. It is a love letter to the hometown. The protagonist, Leslie Knope, is proud to be from Pawnee, Indiana, and is proud to live there still. As you watch the series, you can’t help but fall in love with Leslie’s enthusiasm about Pawnee, and hopefully you can catch some enthusiasm about your hometown, too. Here are some lessons I’ve learned from everyone’s favorite mid-level municipal employee:

(1) Nobody insults your hometown but you. And maybe you shouldn’t either. You will never see Knope more angry than when residents of nearby Eagleton snub Pawnee. Eagletonians are jerks, though: “When a tornado went through Pawnee, we asked Eagleton for help, but they claimed they weren’t home. The whole town said they weren’t home.” Your hometown is like your siblings when you were a kid: you might have complaints about them, but you would not put up with that kind of talk from anyone else. So when people make fun of your city’s downtown crow infestation, you should either remind them that at least that means the city’s secret uranium store didn’t kill them all, or take a cue from Leslie Knope and shut the whole conversation down:

(2) First in friendship, fourth in obesity. There are negative things about every city. Maybe the local sweets factory has contributed to a full-blown obesity bonanza. Maybe teen girl battles have compromised the municipal transit system. Despite its flaws, there are certainly plenty of wonderful people in your hometown. There’s something great about friends you have known for decades. But, some of Leslie’s best friends are not native Pawneeans. Remember that just because you grew up in your city, doesn’t mean everyone you meet there did. Be friendly and welcoming to newcomers, and they just might fall in love with your hometown, too. Ben Wyatt thought he was just passing through Pawnee, but the wonderful locals (well, mostly Leslie) changed his mind.

Cover Illustration of The Wonderful Leaps of S...

This guy leaped off of waterfalls nationwide, but he died in OUR waterfall. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(3) Lil’ Sebastian Makes Everything Better. In one of Leslie’s greatest triumphs, she brings hometown hero Lil’ Sebastian (a winsome, elderly pony) back to the Harvest Festival. One of the best things about living in your hometown is being familiar with the local shorthand and in-jokes. Someone from Indianapolis or Eagleton might not understand the appeal of a geriatric pony with a heart of gold, but Pawneeans do. My city has a flagpole strung with lights instead of a municipal Christmas tree, a laser light show about an ill-fated 19th century daredevil and his pet bear, and our must-try cuisine is called a garbage plate. I love them all, because I grew up with them — except for the garbage plate, anyway.  It is hard to understand these hometown heroes if you aren’t actually from the town – I remember the locals getting all fired up about “spiced wafers” when I lived in Philly, and I just didn’t understand it because they taste like a grandmother – but when you are from there, it’s magic.

(4) Success starts at home. Living in a small town doesn’t mean that Leslie Knope has given up on her dreams. Instead, she believes that she could be president one day. More importantly, she takes steps to achieve her dreams while she’s still in Pawnee, running an impassioned campaign to become Pawnee’s next councilwoman — just see her closing argument in “The Debate,” where Leslie suggests that maybe true success involves making a difference right where you are:

I love this town. And when you love something, you don’t punish it. You fight for it. You take care of it. You put it first. As your City Councilman, I will make sure that no one takes advantage of Pawnee. If I seem too passionate, it’s because I care. If I come on too strong, its because I feel strongly. And if I push too hard, it’s because things aren’t moving fast enough. This is my home, you are my family, and I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.

(5) If all else fails, just slisten to Amy Poehler. Here is Poehler’s take on her character’s life in Pawnee: “I think there’s something very romantic about people deciding to be in love with your own small town. There’s a lot of arc in art and literature about moving to the big city, and there’s something really sweet about moving to a small town.” Whenever she talks about her character, Poehler respects Knope’s tenacity, and never acts like Leslie is at all pathetic for living in her hometown. And neither are you. Just ask Leslie Knope (…unless you’re from Eagleton).

Hometown Snapshots

Posted in GSOY (Gratuitous Story of Yourself) by

I recently came across this blog of photos from our hometown of Rochester, New York.

This one in particular struck me because when I first looked at it, I was surprisingly taken aback, as the photo felt like a ghost of some kind. Maybe it’s the three cars on the street or the wrapped up stop light. But it’s like someone took the living soul out of this building and replaced it with glass and concrete. But I realized that it really had nothing to do with the building, and not really Rochester itself.

It’s the fact that how I remember this building is by my memories from years ago. At one point, both my parents worked at Kodak right down the street from this corner, and as a kid, everything looked so big. So unreachable. So full of life. Everything was new. Or new-ish to me, at least. So much to be explored despite the fact that the edifices themselves had been there for years.

But through the lens of an adult, as someone who hasn’t lived there and driven past this area (or paid attention) in at least eight years, it looks so lifeless. Maybe it’s because now I understand the real life outcomes that can stem from empty buildings. How businesses can go under. How hundreds of people that worked in buildings just like this can become unemployed and how it affected their families. How a once bustling downtown is merely a string of buildings at only half capacity.

Being an adult makes you see things through a different lens, like once rose colored glasses that have since become faded and yet gained more clarity. It takes you out of seeing the painting as a whole, and finally noticing the colors and details of every brushstroke. It makes you realize that something that once was, never will be, even if it’s made anew – for better or worse. And being an adult is realizing that those snapshots were mere moments in time, that we take in and learn from, no matter how vibrant or lifeless it may be.