I learned a few weeks back that I had some security preference on Facebook checked so that my name didn't come up when people searched for it. After I lost my job, I figured I should probably make myself available through all appropriate channels for the new media-savvy, and opened myself up to the teaming refuse of the Internet.

But what I hoped would turn into a networking opportunity has become a forced march down memory lane. Right now, I'm debating what to do with the friend requests waiting to be processed. One of them is from a girl who threatened to fight me in seventh grade after I called her a slut. Another is from a girl who barely gave me the time of day in high school. The third is from some distant cousin who reports all my comings and goings on MySpace to the maternal grandmother with whom I have little contact.

I feel like there's no set etiquette for how to proceed here. After an informal poll of my friends, many subscribe to the belief that if they didn't like someone a decade or two ago, they shouldn't give them access to information. But what if my classmates have changed as much in the ensuing years as I have? Shouldn't I let the petty shit that I said when I was young and foolish go?

And family is an especially fraught battle. I friended a distant relative on my father's side, but my grandmother had already passed along my phone number because we live in the same part of Somerville. I added my brother because he pretty much knows what's going on with me, but probably wouldn't add my mother if she joined, if only to spare her the shame of seeing the large percentage of my pictures which feature me holding some form of alcohol.

One of my friends also believes this is a good plan, and explained to her mother that she wouldn't be friending her. Another cohort encouraged her mother to join in order to foster hobbies other than "obsessing over her grandchildren and drinking."

So here are the rules as I see them: If you're not comfortable adding someone, ignore their request. If they keep bugging you and you don't mind burning that particular bridge, explain politely that you'd rather not add them. If it becomes an issue where you might not want to piss the person off, add them with limited access to your information. That way the family reunion isn't too awkward, either from hurt feelings or when that aggressive relative starts talking about that picture of you singing "Copacabana" at Sissy K's Monday night karaoke.

Not that I have any pictures like that, mind you.

It was bound to happen eventually. After the Chicken Grease Incident of Aught Eight, my grandmother's car has suffered another injustice.

Its first parking ticket.

Which would have been fine if I'd forgotten about street cleaning, or if I'd left the car parked in a resident spot downtown. But it was just sitting in what I thought was a perfectly legal spot at the top of my street. When I'd parked it yesterday, I noticed it was a little close to the crosswalk, but moved it up later that night.

Apparently, I didn't shift forward far enough. When I went to get the car this afternoon, it had the bright orange ticket on the windshield. It accused me of parking within 20 feet of an intersection.

Not to sound like an entitled brat, but this is total B.S., Somerville. People park in that spot all the time and don't get ticketed. Twenty feet would put me halfway down the block. And it's not like my place is in a big intersection—there's plenty of room for cars to navigate. Is it my out-of-state plates? Some bored cop decided to make a quick buck on my dwindling dollars?

Sigh. Just another expense for my unemployed ass.

Most employees of companies that are facing uncertainty during these trying economic times listen to every bit of gossip and hearsay that float around the office when rumors of a new owner circulate. It must be nice for the reporters at the Globe to call up the people who are reportedly considering becoming their new bosses to verify the rumors.

Both Boston Herald publisher Patrick Purcell and former Boston advertising executive Jack Connors separately flatly ruled out being involved in deals to buy the Boston Globe, which is owned by the New York Times Co. . . .

"There's nothing to it,'' Connors told the Globe. "I'm not buying the Boston Globe. I'm not buying anything that the New York Times owns.''Hmm. Maybe Connors is waiting for the NYT to sell the possibly worthless broadsheet to another media conglomerate, and will then swoop in (perhaps wearing a cape) to purchase the Globe. Sure, it sounds crazy, but so does the possibility of News Corp. buying the Globe, merging it with Ottaway, and shuttering the Herald.

[I]n a statement today Purcell said he had no discussions as Ottaway chairman "with any potential bidders" for the Globe and called the Financial Times story "completely unfounded and not rooted in reality." The sole owner of the Herald, Purcell said he was committed to keeping Boston a two-newspaper city.

I'd like to announce that I am interested in buying the Boston Globe. I can offer $900, a 19-inch HD television, and my caustic wit. Provided I can live in the Morrissey Boulevard offices, of course.

No kidding.

I enjoy the Espresso Royale near Symphony Hall or on Newbury Street.

I'd rather be broke in Europe than in America. At least then, I'd be living the dream while living paycheck to paycheck.

WTF?

WTF, Part II.

Well, that sucks. But there's always next year.

You guys, I'm in love. I'd like you to meet the very special additions to my life.

.









Yes, that's a Big Blue Bug Christmas ornament (which will become a year-round desk ornament when/if I get a new full-time gig—it reminds me of my roots) and a 16GB iPod Touch. I know I say this every time I get a new iPod, but this is seriously the best thing to happen to me in months. Not only do I have all my music at my disposal again after years of using a teensy 1 GB Nano, but I think this may be the device that leads to my fiscal solvency.

Did you guys know about this site called Mint.com? You enter in all the information for your bank accounts, loans, credit cards, and investments, and it automatically updates and tells you what you're worth, what fees you've incurred, etc. I now know I'm worth -$49,532, and that's before I've added in my overdraft account and federal student loans. Which is a good thing to know, even if it does make me want to kill myself. And, provided there is WiFi available, I'll be able to see that before I make a stupid purchase.

This should be handy when my Mom and I hit the outlets tomorrow. Here's hoping for some good deals.

In other Christmas news, I'm happy to report I got a new coat, some gift certificates to Target, and some lovely soaps. And my brother hooked me up with a sweet USB hub and a portable battery backup which will keep me a-rockin' whilst I am on the road.

In honor of this special day, let's do the iPod meme.

Instructions: Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question. NO CHEATING.

How does the world see you?
Let Your Troubles Roll By, Carbon Leaf [Um, I guess I'm easygoing? I don't think so, but, 'kay.]

Will I have a happy life?
Say Hello, Jay-Z ["I come from the bottom, but I'm mad fly." Sounds good to me.]

What do my friends really think of me?
New Slang, The Shins ["Never should have called but my head's to the wall and I'm lonely." Depressing.]

What do people secretly think of me?
Original Sinsuality, Tori Amos [This is cryptic, even for Tori. I cannot divine meaning from this. Maybe I'm a ho?]

How can I be happy?
Georgia On My Mind, Ray Charles [I do like warm weather and peaches.]

What should I do with my life?
She Loves You, The Beatles [Tell people I love them? OK. Done.]

Will I ever have children?
American Girls, Counting Crows [Guess they'll be girls, which is OK. Just sad they won't have a British father.]

What is some good advice for me?
Thunder Road, Bruuuuce ["Hey what else can we do now/ Except roll down the window/ And let the wind blow/ Back your hair." Run away. Gotcha.]

How will I be remembered?
Seamless Life, Vance Gilbert [This is a beautiful song by an artist you should know, but it's very depressing. Basically about living the 9-5 grind without any adventure or complications. "No rough edges/ and no loose ties/ living the seamless life." Swell.]

What is my signature dancing song?
Gatheration, Lady Sovereign [Awesome. "Lightweights, I really can't stand 'em."]

What do I think my current theme song is?
Tears Dry on Their Own, Amy Winehouse [Um, yes. "Even if I stop wanting you/ Perspective pushes through/ I'll be some next man's other woman soon/ I shouldn't play myself again/ I should just be my own best friend/ Not fuck myself in the head with stupid men."]

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
God's Gonna Cut You Down, Johnny Cash [Holy crap. "You can run on for a long time/ Run on for a long time/ Run on for a long time/ Sooner or later God'll cut you down/ Sooner or later God'll cut you down."]

What song will play at my funeral?
Don't Stop Believin', Journey [Dudes. If I die, seriously, I want this played. For I am naught but a small-town girl living in a lonely world.]

What type of men/women do you like?
Never Coming Home, Sting [Ah, yes. This is true. The ones who run away.]

What is my day going to be like?
Love At First Sight, Kylie Minogue [Hey, I did fall in love today. With my iPod!]

The carrot cake has been baked. My attempt at cinnamon buns is attempting to rise on the kitchen counter. There are ample chocolate chip cookies available for noshing. My brother and I just finished wrapping gifts.

I'm officially ready for Christmas.

Here's hoping that the 2008 edition of the holiday finds you healthy, still employed, and spending time with your loved ones. As always, I'm grateful to have the gift of readers who give a crap what I have to say, even without BoMag in my URL. And, to my Jewish friends, I hope you see an awesome movie tomorrow.

I'll see you when the eggnog haze lifts on Friday.

We've all seen those hackneyed Christmas specials in which someone saves Christmas. Ernest Saved Christmas once. So did Elmo.

Today, the Derjue family saved Christmas. For real.

A friend of mine had planned to leave for Las Vegas to celebrate Christmas with her parents on Sunday. Because of the snow, she figured it would be smart to change her flight to Monday evening. As an added bonus, she'd be on the same flight as the rest of her siblings and her niece.

Except JetBlue canceled their flight three hours before it left on Monday, sending the family scrambling to find another flight. Naturally, everything out of Logan was astronomically expensive, sold out, or would get them there well after Christmas. I offered to do everything I could for them. At the time, I figured that would be limited to fielding my friend's profanity-laced emails and text messages.

But when Sam and I got back to my Mom's house last night, my friend asked if I'd be willing to drive her to the airport in Manchester, NH to catch the one flight in all of New England that wouldn't force her niece into white slavery to pay for. I was on my way to Boston to look at apartments (know of a place/sublet? Let me know!) this afternoon, so I saw no reason why my Mom and I couldn't swing by and do a good deed.

I woke up an hour later than I'd hoped, told my Mom the plan, took a fast shower, and hit the road. At first, we knew we were getting my friend. Then her brother was on board. Then her sister, sister-in-law, and niece. All in one big (but not that big) vehicle.

Traffic was fine through Providence and Boston, and we got my friend with ease. Then we got on 93 to pick up our second passenger in Woburn. Our trusty GPS sent us through the cute little downtown area of the city, which was overrun with schoolchildren who'd just been let out and last-minute holiday shoppers. After we picked up her brother, we sat in Burlington Mall traffic. Then we sat in more traffic as we drove to another part of town to pick up the rest of the family at a Logan Express lot.

After an epic struggle, we somehow fit six adults and one preschooler into my grandmother's van.

"Are we going on an adventure?" My friend's sister asked her daughter.

"No," she said. "We're just going on a plane."

My friend commanded me to drive like the wind, which I certainly did. My mother shifted nervously in her seat as I tailgated and weaved in and out of traffic. I wished that I had some sort of flashing light to indicate that I was doing the good work of saving Christmas for an entire family to push the slow cars aside.

Because I used my excellent driving skills and did not allow my poor mother to use a bathroom all morning, we managed to get the family to the airport 40 minutes before their flight left. I just got a message from my friend, saying that they barely made it through bag check, but are safely in Nevada.

I'd have done it for any of my friends, and don't expect anything other than gas money in payment. But if this doesn't put me on the "nice" list, I don't know what will.

It is, as the kids say, on like Donkey Kong between GateHouse Media and the Globe. Dan Kennedy reports that the local paper chain is suing the broadsheet over its hyperlocal "Your Town" sites. Which isn't totally surprising—the chain's owner hinted as much when I spoke to him for Boston Daily.

Now Universal Hub founder Adam Gaffin has announced he won't be posting any content from GateHouse sites, fearing a lawsuit since he too earns money off ads and could be accused of doing the same thing as Boston.com. I'd argue that it's less problematic for GateHouse when Gaffin links to their stories because he populates most of his site with content from local bloggers and probably causes the company to lose $.00002 per story. Boston.com's determination to repeat the Universal Hub model on the super-local level in order to save its fledgling business model definitely encroaches on GateHouse's turf in a more menacing way.

I can't wait to see how this one plays out. And I have no fear in linking to GateHouse content—I can assure you this blog makes me exactly zero dollars.

As promised, here are the pictures from my commute yesterday. Good times.

After my 2-hour epic drive to Rhode Island yesterday (pics to come—sorry to mess with the chronology), my mother and I went to the grocery store to pick up some milk and bread for my grandfather. As we walked through the refrigerator section, I did a double-take.

The store had pancake batter in a can more traditionally used for whipped cream.

My Mom and I had a good chuckle about the product, and decided it was worth trying on a snowy Sunday morning. Even if it did cost $5. But it's organic!

.

It works just how you think such a product would. Press on the little white plastic dispenser, et voila. Organic pancake batter on-demand.

.

Here was our first pancake. I used too little batter, so it came out looking more like a lace cookie.

.

I was a little more liberal on my later flapjacks. And we even had some frozen blueberries to add to the flavor bouquet.

.

I went into this experiment fully expecting to eat scrambled eggs for breakfast, but the batter was surprisingly tasty. It had a nice nutty flavor, and no weird chemical aftertaste from whatever magic substance propels the contents of those spray cans.

For single people like me, the spray pancake is a brilliant invention. Whenever I make pancakes for myself, or even for my family when I'm home, the smallest amount of batter Bisquick whips up is way too big. Now even losers who don't have a special someone to make doe-eyes at over Sunday brunch can still enjoy a special breakfast without wasting food.

In closing: Spray pancakes are pasquinade-tested, and pasquinade-approved.

I lingered over my Saturday morning bagel even longer than usual today because I dreaded what awaited me when it came time to move Grandmother's Car from its snowy parking place. I'd watched the snow coverage. I'd packed up the KitchenAid to ensure easy Christmas cookie baking. Resigning myself to my fate, I put on my clashing snow pants and big winter jacket and went outside.

Due to my own laziness and stupidity, I hadn't purchased a shovel before the storm hit, so all I had to get myself out from under 10 inches of snow was one of those orange foam Sno-Brooms. Luckily, I'd had the foresight to grab a spot just before a driveway, so nobody could park in front of me. I figured I'd just pull out of the spot instead of getting the snow jammed under my wheels while navigating between two cars.

I pushed the fluffy stuff off the windshield. I got as much off the roof as I could reach. I started the car, then used the Sno-Broom to clear some of the drifted snow away from the wheels. After surveying the scene, I got in the car, removed my gloves, and shifted into drive.

"Come on," I said to the car as I eased on the gas. And without any trouble at all, I was free of my spot.

It couldn't possibly have gone that easy, could it? Is this just dumb luck? How did I get a non-SUV out of ten inches of snow without a shovel? Although I kind of needed one to get out of the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot on my way to the highway. It was eerily reminiscent of the demolition derby pits I have seen.

Once I get my laptop working on the home WiFi, I'll post some pictures of my epic 2-hour drive. It was captivating stuff.

If I had a shoe on (What? I'm an unemployed blogger. You should be happy I'm wearing pants and have bathed in the past 24 hours), I'd be throwing it at George Bush for this move.

"Doctors and other healthcare providers should not be forced to choose between good professional standing and violating their conscience," Health and Human Services Secretary Michael O. Leavitt said in a statement.
So now the federal government can cut funding to any state or local health care facility that doesn't allow wingnuts employees with a "conscience" to not treat someone if it violates their personal beliefs. Bush did this now so it will go into effect before Barack Obama takes office, and will probably stay on the books because it's a long, arduous process to repeal it. Obama will most likely be too busy trying to save the economy as we know it to bother with this right away.

Just the name of the rule bothers me. "Right of conscience." Like women who get abortions or want birth control pills to stop the mind-numbing cramps they get once a month are just self-interested harlots bent on destroying society and only these chosen few medical professionals with a conscience can stop them.

In the opinion of this birth-control-taking, pro-choice harlot, if you have the mental capacity to have a conscience, you're smart enough to know that going into the medical profession involves doing some things you'd rather not. Like cleaning up various bodily fluids, dealing with uncooperative patients, or watching someone go against your medical advice.

But you deal with it because that's in the job description. If you don't like doling out birth control or performing abortions, work for a center that has values more in line with your own. Don't make yourself a liability to an already-struggling clinic.

Is it Jan. 20 yet?

I don't believe that Bernie Madoff is a saint. But the one moneymaking institution that has my dander up at present is Sallie Mae.

As you may recall me writing earlier this month, the company's policy during the worst economic downturn in modern times is to charge debt-addled college graduates a fee for deferring their loans while searching for a new job, and then only gives them three months without payments. When another of the many student loan companies with which I do business called me to get my mailing address, I asked them what I needed to do to defer my loans.

"Send us a letter explaining which unemployment agency you've registered with, and tell us you want Option A," the very helpful operator told me.

"There are no fees?"

"No. And you'll get six months without payments. If you still don't have a job after that, just let us know and we'll start another six-month freeze."

Ahh.

But it seems that Sallie Mae's lack of sympathy isn't only for the unemployed. The company also doesn't give a damn about dead soldiers.

"We are asking that you forgive Ian [McVey]'s loans as his federal loans are being forgiven on the basis of Ian's choice of service to our country as a patriot and so that our family may not have to bear these financial burdens while we deal with the inconsolable grief over the senseless, tragic and untimely loss of our son. While life has not been fair, we pray that you will be."

Sallie Mae responded with a computer-generated letter that, aside from a "Please accept our condolences for your loss" stuck in the middle, was a demand for $53,144.

I can't wait to see the day when Sallie Mae's executives are made to sit in front of Congress and beg forgiveness. I hope that our legislators show them the same level of mercy they've given their customers—none.

Over a couple of beers at the Pour House tonight (ah, irony), my friends and I were talking about the doomed local media scene. One friend pointed out a very disturbing trend I had not noticed until it was mentioned.

Channel 7 has cut way back on its use of alliteration.

That's like. . . Boston magazine cutting back on its high-end lifestyle reporting. Or the Globe cutting back on lifeless lifestyle pieces. Or the Herald cutting back on conservative ire. It is just a move to deny its true identity, and should therefore not be done.

For example: The News Station is leading its reports about the ongoing mess north of Boston with the headline "Ice Storm." Bo-ring. How about "Staying Warm After the Storm?" "Ice Isn't Nice?"

Surely the station's crack team of writers could come up with something more—wait for it—compelling than "Ice Storm"? Or have the alliterative geniuses all been laid off as the media economy continues its downward spiral?

Over a couple of beers the other night, a fellow unemployed layabout and I decided that while we're in-between jobs, we should learn the dance from Beyonce's "Single Ladies" video.


Beyoncé‚ Knowles - Single Ladies
Video
Envoyé par mohzer sur wat.tv

Neither of us have any sense of grace. How hard could it possibly be?

But it got me thinking about all the other popular dances I've attempted to learn in my life. As a teenager, there was the bondage-lite classic, "If" by Janet Jackson.



But I never could get the arms and legs to move in unison. Nor could I find a strapping bald guy to dangle from the ceiling at the tender age of 13.

Even a white girl from the suburbs managed to pull this one off.



But this would completely end me. For real.



However, I feel completely comfortable with all the moves displayed in this classic scene. Especially the hopping from side to side while shaking my head. I'm a big fan of that one.



If I can do the Peanuts dance, certainly I can handle "Single Ladies." Right?

According to QualityHealth.com [via Beantown Bloggery], Cambridge is the 10th most sexually active city in America. The site ranked cities by birth rates, birth control sales, Amazon.com sales figures for books about sex, and erotica sales.

This academic hub, which houses both Harvard and M.I.T., is also the city with the most relationship savvy: 58 percent of its romantic Amazon.com purchases are books about relationships. Cambridge's lower-than-average birth rates kept it from earning a top spot on our list, but it's interesting to note that in 1991 Massachusetts became the first location to institute a statewide condom availability program in its high schools.
Just because we liberals are smart enough not to get pregnant doesn't mean we're not sexy. We're just sexy in that Tina Fey, librarian glasses sense of sexy.

I'm not surprised that the capital of my home state is one of the least sexually-active cities in America. God knows I never got laid there.

Known as the Renaissance City, Providence has struggled to improve its poverty rates over the past few decades and is now touted as one the best quality-of-life cities in the country. Even so, sex is not its strong suit: Birth and fertility rates remain low, and its contraceptive and erotica sales seem to have stalled.

That's because one of my favorite sex-positive sex shops, Miko, closed earlier this year. There's nothing less sexy than walking through the aforementioned poor neighborhoods to hit up an Amazing Superstore to buy a cheap plastic sex toy and a low-budget gang bang porno.

I spend one day writhing in agony due to a stomach bug, and wake up to find the whole world has gone mad. Bernard Cohen is "resigning," as Jon Keller so eloquently put it, and Gov. Deval Patrick hopes to replace him with James Aloisi. Who helped plan the Big Dig. Which is a large part of why our transportation system is royally screwed. How, exactly, is this a good idea?

I'm partial to Cohen, who hasn't been afraid to speak the truth about the state's doomed transportation systems, and am sad to see him go. (But, let me be clear—I'm unemployed, and wouldn't take that job for all the cushy benefits and pensions you could throw at me. It's like being made captain of a ship that is actively sinking.)

And in other crazy news, House Speaker Sal DiMasi has taken up the reformer's mantle in this transit funding brouhaha.

THE CHINESE SYMBOL for crisis is a combination of the characters for danger and opportunity.

I'm pretty sure that's how some of the sorority girls justified their ill-advised tattoos when I was in college. But after the cheesy start, DiMasi makes the case that a toll hike is a dumb way to try to save the Turnpike. Instead, DiMasi argues, we need to reform these agencies, then raise the gas tax.

Which is exactly what Senate President Therese Murray argued in a Globe editorial last month. So, if my math is correct, two out of three Beacon Hill leaders are on the same page about how to handle this crisis. While the third is busy appointing a man to lead the troubled agencies who helped put them on the road to hell.

This is going to get very interesting.

This weekend, I attended a kid's birthday party in Salem. Despite the dangerous combination of seven-year-olds, drums, and my epic hangover, it was a good time. The party had a rock and roll theme, which was greatly enhanced by a three-year-old boy who vomited profusely all over his mother.

Seriously, it was like something out of The Exorcist. I don't know how a little body could produce so much bile. He went home with his puke-soaked mother, and I helped clean up the remnants before another kid fell in it. (And by help clean it up, I ripped up paper towels for my friend, who was doing that thing mothers do when they don't care how foul something is, they'll clean it if it needs to be done.)

I thought he might have eaten too much. But I later found out that the boy's sisters and mother had recently dealt with the stomach bug. And, lo and behold, I woke up today with stomach cramps. I suffered through a meeting this morning, and broke out in hives toward the end of it. Hives. What the hell kind of virus is this?

As I write this, I'm laying very still on my bed, hoping not to disturb whatever part of my intestines that are causing me so much pain. And reminding myself to get my tubes tied when I go into the hospital from whatever serious medical condition this virulent germ causes me. I have stuff to do, body. Sack up and fight it.

I'm sure you've seen this by now.



Huh. Guess that Iraqi journalist Muntadar al-Zeidi is as impatient as I am for Barack Obama to take office.

A few things:

1. For a man who's aged so much during his eight years in office, ol' George managed to duck those size 10 loafers pretty well.
2. But did he really have to smirk? Tossing a shoe at someone and calling him a dog is to Iraqis what flashing your headlights and flipping someone off while yelling that he's a Jeter-loving motherfucker is to Bostonians. It's a grave insult. At least try to muster up some concern.
   
3. The Secret Service was apparently so busy trying to memorize the code names for the Obama family that they were slow to respond to this shoe-throwing maniac. He threw one shoe, then had enough time to take the other shoe off and hum it at the President before anybody tackled him.
   
4. Poor Dana Perino is going to be telling the same story all week. "I got this shiner from a microphone. Yes, really."

In all seriousness, I'm glad the President is okay. If only because pictures of him in his wounded state may have made some easily-influenced Americans a little less upset about the horrible legacy he'll leave behind in a little more than a month.

When I lost my job, the woman I babysit for said I had one week to advertise myself as an unemployed writer. "After that," she said, "you're a freelancer."

I guess that's true. Not only can you find my work here and on Blue Mass Group, but I'm also doing some work for NESN.com. Today I wrote about what the new Red Sox logos mean for the MLB-licensed caskets.

Be sure to check it out.