Tag Archives: change

The new kid in town

Moving to a new area (especially after spending over a decade in the last area) there’s a bit of a transitional period. I mean, more than you have to unpack everything and put everything away and figure out where the closest grocery store is. Of course I’ve done that. If I hadn’t, I’d probably have starved to death by now (or tripped over a box in my living room and broken my neck and Dumbcat would have eaten my face.)



No, it’s more the little things you have to get used to and relearn about your new place before you can feel truly at home there. Those are the things that keep popping up and tripping you up and reminding you that you’re a newbie.


  • Where all the local towns are. I have to ask people at work this ALL! THE! TIME! A lot of my job is sorting towns on this one website by county (we serve a tri-county area, with a few forays into the other surrounding counties) and I have to look up all these towns online to find out where they are, and I’m forever asking my coworkers “OMG WHERE IS COPENHAGEN!” (Side note: Copenhagen is actually a town here, not just a town in Denmark. TRUE FACTS!) And then they explain to be “that’s south of us” or whatever and I have no sense of direction and they have to show it to me on a map and I’m still all “where is north” and then they all laugh at me because I am a freak of nature but also lovable like a stuffed animal made of hugs.

    Also, see Theresa? You pronounce the "h." THE-resa. I have a LOT to learn.

    Also, see Theresa? You pronounce the “h.” THE-resa. I have a LOT to learn.

  • The local news. We have one local news channel (THIS IS OUR COMPETITION! We watch this broadcast in the newsroom at night to make sure we have all of the big stories. And if we had them first, we like to say “WE SCOOPED YOU!” OK, fine, I’m the only one who says that. But I say it with a LOT of enthusiasm.) The local news is fine (they make a lot of typos on their website, which I like to point out and laugh at) except they have this local sports guy who makes me want to light both my eyeballs and eardrums on fire. His name is Busler. I don’t know what his first name is. (The website says it’s Mel.) He looks and talks like Champ from Anchorman. And he does this thing called “Busler’s Beauties” where he narrates sports plays with things like “Uh-oh! Spaghettios!” when someone falls down in a really obnoxious voice. According to my coworkers, who also think he’s got the most annoying voice ever, he’s a very generous guy who raises a lot of money locally for charities, so I suppose I shouldn’t pick on him. But when his segment of the news comes on, I always say “CAN WE TURN OFF THE NEWS NOW?” and coworker R. always says “Oh, yes, SORRY AMY!” because he knows Busler’s Beauties makes me want to stab kittens.
    Doesn't goold old Mel Busler...

    Doesn’t goold old Mel Busler…

    ...look like Champ from "Anchorman?" I totally want the WWNY team to get in a rumble with PBS. I would watch that.

    …look like Champ from “Anchorman?” I totally want the WWNY team to get in a rumble with PBS. I would watch that.

  • The local commercials. This should be a side-note to the last one, because good old Mel Busler does about 3/4 of the local commercials. He’s selling cars and vacations and who even knows what else. Also, there’s this one local commercial where a car company has their kids (grandkids? I don’t even know) do the commercial, and the little girl says “IT’S CRAAAAAZY!” with this weird look to and then away from the camera and the finger-around-her-ear gesture that signifies crazy and it makes me insane so I guess the fact that it MAKES me crazy means it’s working. I’m used to local commercials starring my friends (one of the best parts of being friends with the actors in the area!) so seeing these is jarring and weirdo-times.

    (This one actually isn’t THAT cheesy, but it provides you some local flavor. And now you totally all want frozen yogurt, don’t you? I’ve been to this place. It was a weird time of the day and most of the good flavors were gone but if I go back on another day I’m sure I’ll have better luck with it. There really are a billion toppings.)
  • Local stores and restaurants. FIRST you have to deal with the fact that you miss all of your favorite restaurants (Ala Shanghai – *sniff*) and find NEW favorite restaurants (I’ve found some that will do, but none that I’m crazy about yet. However, I’ve only been here 5 months.) Then you have to find your way amongst new and perplexing stores. There’s a store here called Herb Philipson’s (which seems like kind of a outdoorsy Big Lots? Like, it sells a lot of camo gear, but also random bins of sunscreen? I don’t even know.) I cannot remember the name of Herb Philipson’s to save my life. So whenever I talk about it I call it Harvey Fierstein’s. Dad always says, “IT IS NOT HARVEY FIERSTEIN’S!” So now of COURSE I call it that ALL! THE! TIME! (In this town’s defense, I have to applaud it for its shopping and restaurant choices. We have more shopping and eating venues here than you’d imagine. It’s kind of impressive.)
    It's Herb Philipson's!

    It’s Herb Philipson’s!

    Not Harvey Fierstein's! I AM SHOCKED WITH YOU, AMY!

    Not Harvey Fierstein’s! I AM SHOCKED WITH YOU, AMY!

  • Finding a new local radio station. I had FINALLY found a station I loved in Albany, with a nice mix of alt-folksy-rock and sometimes they’d play Pink, and now I have to start all over again. I’ve found one that randomly plays “Oops I Did It Again” and then five seconds later plays “Pour Some Sugar on Me” so I like that it’s unpredictable, but I need an alternative channel for my Brandi Carlile days. I don’t think we have that here. SIGH SIGH. Yeah, I know, that’s what the music on your phone is for, but I really like not knowing what’s coming up on the radio. It’s like a Magic 8-Ball of music for me. I’m easily amused.
  • Learning all the local lore. In Albany, you had Mayor McCheese, with the most prodigious orange tan (who left office right before I moved away.) Now I have to get used to our NEW mayor, who has a blog and owns a bar and is said to have an eye for the lay-deez. I have to re-learn things like “don’t eat there, because food poisoning” and “this is where the best coffee is” and “don’t trust that, because LIES” and “OMG, that’s the part of town where you’re going to get hooked on heroin, don’t drive there” and “that’s a stabmurderer, don’t slow down, JUST KEEP DRIVING.”
    This is my current mayor. He's nowhere near orange enough to be a mayor.

    This is my current mayor. He’s nowhere near orange enough to be a mayor.

    Right, Former Mayor McCheese?

    Right, Former Mayor McCheese?

I’m sure there are many more, but these are the ones that keep standing out. I say “HELP ME I AM NEW!” over and over at work, and my coworkers, who are sparkly-shiny-wonderful, always help, which is reason number 47 billion and 4 that I love them more than anything. They want me to fit in. I love that about them. (And in return, I tell them stories about my hometown, which is one of the counties we cover now and then, and sometimes I know people we write about because they’re someone I remember from my childhood so I give them the inside scoop and it makes them laugh.)

Until next time, my little chickadees. May you find a radio station that’s always playing your favorite songs and may you visit Harvey Fierstein’s, where I assume they would sell feather boas and FABULOUS false eyelash kits at an amazing discount!

I have a fancy nametag and EVERYTHING.

You’re totally right, anthropomorphic computer equipment. Thanks for the reminder. Stop talking about me behind my back, though, you’ll give me a complex and scare the cat.

Things have been a bit upended thisaway. Completely upended, actually. To the point that I have to reschedule the time I sleep and eat and such. Plus a gigantic move to a new town, and a whole new apartment, and a new town to learn, and a new JOB to learn, and and and…

I’m a bit chicken-head-cut-off here.

Overall, all’s well. I miss Albany, and I really miss my people there, but am learning my new home. My job makes it worthwhile; it’s a fantastic job. I love my coworkers, who are intelligent and sarcastic and make me laugh until I snort pretty much daily. I love the work, because it’s never the same and I get to be all crack-the-whippy about grammar issues and I get to be the night-and-weekend social media person, things I love doing AND I GET PAID FOR THEM. How often do you get to do things that you like, and get paid for them? I love the building, which is old and historic and filled with the best of newspapery ghosts whispering “extra, extra.” I like that my apartment is literally four minutes from my job, which will be fantastic when the snow falls (and that could be any day now…it’s getting chilly here.) I like that I know the news because I have to proofread all the stories so I’m all knowledgeable about what’s going on in the world. (Some days, I wish I wasn’t as knowledgeable. There’s a lotta shit going down right now, yo.) I like when the phone rings I get to answer it with “Newsdesk, Amy speaking.” I like that I had a hand in 5/7 of the newspapers that come out in this city every week. (5/7 only because I get two days off each week, not because I’m a slacker.) I like that when people ask what I do, and I say “I work for the paper,” they get an impressed look on their faces for the first time in my LIFE. I like that I look forward to going to work every day. Every single damn day. They even gave me a nametag with my PHOTO on it so I am all OFFICIAL.

This is NOT from my paper, but from my beloved cousin S.'s paper. I asked her if perhaps a tutor was revived IN the Tudor; the answer was no, sadly.

This is NOT from my paper, but from my beloved cousin S.’s paper. I asked her if perhaps a tutor was revived IN the Tudor; the answer was no, sadly.

I’m getting used to a nights-and-weekends schedule; there are pros and cons to it. Nice to only have to set the alarm a couple times a week, but working until the wee hours still makes me a little loopy. I assume I’ll get used to it eventually and stop being so yawny all the time.

My new place is amazing. Roomy and beautiful and old. Dumbcat and I have moved right in. This morning, he realized if he sleeps right on a register grate, the hot air from the furnace is ALL HIS. I walked by and laughed so hard I hurt my stomach. He had a look on his face as if he’d discovered pirate gold. “ALL HEET! ALL MYNE! MOM, IS SO GUDE!” My birthday present from my parents this year was – are you ready? – MY OWN WASHER-DRYER. I don’t have to leave the house to wash my clothes! I FEEL LIKE A MILLIONAIRE!!!

Random apartment photos! Ignore the cat-hairy floor. LOOK AT ALL THE ROOM I HAVE!

Random apartment photos! Ignore the cat-hairy floor. LOOK AT ALL THE ROOM I HAVE!

Bookcase! Bedroom! All the space!

Bookcase! Bedroom! All the space!

Kitchen! Frog-thing hanging on the wall! SO MUCH SPACE OMG!

Kitchen! Frog-thing hanging on the wall! Random Amy-shoes on the floor! SO MUCH SPACE OMG!

I have also purchased many bookcases and filled them with many books. And there is room for MORE books (which is secretly why I purchased VERY tall bookcases.) Gigantic book sale going on at the library starting next week, yo. Guess who’ll be there? ME ME ME. (Dude, fifty-cent paperbacks and dollar hardcovers? Like I’d NOT be there. Please.)

Two of my 6 bookcases. The guy at the store where I bought bookcases was all "are these for books? YOU OWN THIS MANY BOOKS?" Heh. Yeah, kind of.

Two of my six bookcases. The guy at the store where I bought bookcases was all “are these for books? YOU OWN THIS MANY BOOKS?” Heh. Yeah, kind of more than that many.

SIDE NOTE: I haven’t had time to read a single book since I moved. Not one. I KNOW. It’s kind of a travesty, yeah? I’m hoping to chisel out a little more time for that sometime soon. I also haven’t written a single poem. NOT ONE. Another thing I need to get a move on. I have scraps of phrasing scribbled on a million post-its all over this place. I need to turn them into something.

Very little theater here (at least compared to what I’m used to in Albany) but a decent amount if I make a bit of a drive. Went to a concert in Potsdam last night – about an hour and a half away – which was totally worth the trip. (Postmodern Jukebox – if you live on the internet like I do, you’re sure to have heard of them. They’re the ones that take pop songs and make them all swing-y or blues-y or big-band-y. They’re fantastic live, and they’re on tour, so I highly recommend if they come by you, go see them!)

Terribly actiony shot. They were very move-y. Such a wonderful show.

Terribly actiony shot. They were very move-y. Such a wonderful show.

This was my favorite song they played:

(Also, we totally had a singalong to a “Baby’s Got Back” mashup that made me laugh and laugh. And YES, I sang along. Of course I did.)

All in all – all’s well. Some sadnesses, sure. When are there not? Those weigh heavy on my mind. It’s funny how the little sads weigh so much more than the big happys, isn’t it? Relatively-speaking, they should all weigh the same, like the pound of feathers and the pound of lead in that oft-repeated brain teaser.

So: yes. Alive: check. Well: check. In the middle of a billion things, most of them completely different than anything I’ve ever done or dealt with before: check. Mostly remaining upright throughout all of them and not collapsing into a pool of puddly tears: check (mostly, so I’m counting it as a win.)

I keep thinking of things I should blog, like things you learn working at a newspaper, and things you learn running a newspaper’s Facebook page, and I think Dumbcat wants to talk to you about how it is living in the new apartment, and I want to tell you about the new town, and the new library, and all the local fauna here (holy crap with the fauna that seem to live in my backyard exclusively!) but it’ll have to wait for another day. Hoping that’ll happen sooner than later.



Happy Wednesday, people of the blog. Hope you’re all happy and healthy and wise. Wealthy would be nice, too, but let’s not push it. How about JUST wealthy enough to afford delicious HoHos. There you go, then.

Adventures, new ventures, and past ventures. Many ventures. All the venturing.

Random crap post? Well, sure, don’t mind if I do. It’s late and I’m a sleepy lady. But it was LAUNDRY DAY! Unfortunately, Dr. Horrible was not waiting for me in the laundry room to tell me he loved my hair. Or…the air. That he loved the…air. So now it’s late and I’m just about ready for bed. It’s been a long week, jellybeans. Lots going on. Also, kind of psychically exhausting. Ever have one of those just totally psychically exhausting weeks? Yep. This one.

ANYWAY, things to talk about things to TALK ABOUT!

An exciting thing I did this week that was actually kind of anticlimactic

So this week, I went to Rite Aid to get…drumroll please…MY PASSPORT PHOTO TAKEN. For Finland! And for ANOTHER trip I might or might not be taking before Finland that is one of those “don’t count chickens” things that I don’t want to jinx by mentioning just yet. ANYWAY. The lady at Rite Aid was all “Um. No. Our camera is broken.” Your CAMERA is broken? Well, that’s worrisome. GET IT FIXED. So I went to ANOTHER Rite Aid that is close to my office. I was on a MISSION, you see. And the mission was: GET MY PASSPORT PHOTO THIS WEEK. Because I am applying for my passport by the end of the month. I made a GOAL. I wrote it on the calendar and EVERYTHING.

So I went to this OTHER Rite Aid that is not MY Rite Aid and outside were the following things:

  • a man who might or might not have been crazy eating Ranch Corn Nuts as if he’d never eaten food in his life and when one fell on the ground, he BENT DOWN, PICKED IT UP, AND ATE IT FROM THE FILTHY GROUND

    RANCH CORN NUTS! (Shh, sometimes I totally crave these. Don’t even judge.)

  • a wild turkey (the animal, not the liquor, but I wouldn’t rule out that Ranch Corn Nuts hadn’t been drinking some of the liquor) wandering around all aimlessly in the parking lot as if it wasn’t on one of the busiest streets in Albany

So I went in and thought getting a passport photo would be a bigger deal but apparently they take it a lot more seriously in other countries, because Elaine tells me that in England, they are not even allowed to SMILE in their photos, so I assume they’re all SUPER-SERIOUS about such things. This is how a passport photo is taken here in Merka.

  • You ask the Rite Aid cashier, “How do I get a passport photo?”
  • She laughs and says, “Let me get the other cashier, I don’t know, no one ever asks for those.”
  • She then spends five minutes attempting to get the backdrop shade thingy down. It looked like one of those screens that they used to project filmstrips on in elementary school. She couldn’t get it to stay down. I really wanted to reach over her and give it that little snap at the end – you know the one, like when you’re attempting to get a windowshade to stay down? But I thought that might be rude.
  • Finally, the other cashier came over and rolled her eyes and gave it that little snap. She knew what was up, yo.
  • Other Cashier then picked up a camera that looked like a joke camera and made me stand in front of the obstreperous shade and took a number of photos. “NO! YOUR EYES ARE CLOSED!” “NO! YOUR HEAD IS UP TOO HIGH!” “NO! YOU ARE BLURRY!” This was not a good time. Finally, she came over and bopped me on the head (I told sj she bopped me on the head like Little Bunny Fufu, but sj was good enough to inform me that it was Little Bunny Fufu that did the bopping, and the field mice that got bopped, so she bopped me like a field mouse, yo) so that my head would be where she wanted it. A simple “lower your head” would have sufficed, I think.
  • She took a photo and then was all “You are done” and two seconds later it was ready at the counter and it was like $8 and it’s most possibly the worst photo of me ever taken. I am smirking and attempting not to blink so my eyes are too wide and my head’s at a weird angle so I have about 15 chins. I don’t think anyone will mistake me for a terrorist, but they’re not going to mistake me for anyone with any sort of taste, vision, or fashion sense, either. (NO, I am not showing you. It’s really very terrible.)
  • Also, was anyone aware passports are ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DOLLARS? Good grief, for that kind of money I could buy like half the dollar store. That is a lot of simoleons. Hee, simoleons. That’s so an Amy’s Dad word.

It was all very anticlimactic and when I got out, the turkey and the King of Corn Nuts were both gone. Also, in order to fill out my passport application, I have to tell the passport people where my parents were born. Like, city and state. Guess which of my parents isn’t pleased about THE GOVERNMENT having this info? If you guessed Mom, you are incorrect. (It’s all a foolish thing for Dad to get a head of steam over. The man has a passport and a birth certificate. The government knows where he was born. He eventually told me, but he wasn’t pleased about it.)

ANYWAY, on FRIDAY, I will be going to the post office to do two things: A., mail a package to Andreas and his family in Finland, so we’ll see if the clerk recognizes that as a valid place or if we have an issue like we did the time I tried to mail something to the Isle of Man, and B., APPLY FOR MY PASSPORT! Toorah, tooray, oh frabjous day. I’m totally not even kidding about this Finland trip, you guys. It’ll be here before you even know it! Only 15 months from now!

Ooh, look how pretty Andreas' islands will be when I visit them. SO PRETTY!

Ooh, look how pretty Andreas’ islands will be when I visit them. SO PRETTY!

A new venture!

Some of you know this, some of you don’t (and if you DON’T, it means you are not reading the lovely sj’s BLOG, and shame on you!) but starting soon, I will be writing ELSEWHERE! Well, also here. And also still at Insatiable Booksluts. And guest-posting if people ask me to do that and it’s something I think I’d have something to say something about, I suppose. I’m totally down with guest-posting. It makes me grin happy grins because it’s like being chosen not-last at kickball. ANYWAY!

The most amazing sj, who is one of my most favorite people in the whole land, and I were talking a while back. And one thing led to another thing which led to ANOTHER thing (as most of our emails do) and she extended the invitation for me to review books at her blog! And this was exciting, because I read a lot of books, and not all of them are Insatiable Booksluts-type books, and I wanted to start reviewing more (if not all) of the books I read, and listen, if one of your closest friends asks you if you want to work with her, you most definitely do.

SO, I will be starting to review at Snobbery soon, and have grand plans for fun and adventure there. I mean, would it really be an Amy post if there wasn’t fun and adventure? No. No, it would not. I don’t do much if there’s not fun and adventure involved. Or at least one or the other.

I hope you will come read me over there (and you should be reading there anyway, because it’s good stuff, you guys. And I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it. I don’t deal well with lies.)

It is almost a time of much excitement!

Soon there will be MUCH EXCITEMENT and…dare I say it…MUCH ADVENTURE here in the Lucy’s Football household!

Eek, maybe not THIS kind of adventure. No no.

Eek, maybe not THIS kind of adventure. No no.

Here are some things coming up in the next two months which promise to be VERY EXCITING:

  • road trip to Saratoga for play-reviewing!
  • road trip for a VERY LITERARY EVENING where I will see Owen King read from his new book Double Feature and then GET TO HAVE HIM SIGN MY BOOK AAAHHH! I am very excited about this, as you can tell. There are many good things about this, not ONLY listening to and meeting Owen King. Friend C. is meeting me there! We are going together! Like fancy literary friends!
  • Having a fancy sleepover at C. & C.’s new house! Where they have a guest room! Like a grownup lady! ALL THE FUN TIMES!
  • THEN, the next DAY, C. and I go see In the Heights, which is a musical I have never seen, so THAT is exciting! Two whole DAYS with C.! (Plus I’m totally going to try to talk her into going to the Diner of Best Waffles with me for breakfast that morning. YUM WAFFLES!)



  • Seeing and reviewing Les Miserables with friend N.! And possibly going to a fancy dinner beforehand!
  • SIX DAYS OFF! One day just for me, and five days for BALTIMORE! To see R. and A. and BABY CEEVEE! And the ZOO! Expect epic blogs and photos from that trip, jellybeans. I’m so excited. It’s my first official grown-up paid-for-by-me more-than-one-day vacation in my whole life. I’m totally counting down the days. I just utterly cannot wait.
  • Blah blah many many plays will be seen over the next couple of months. Some for reviewing, some for fun. I’m trying to see as much theater as possible right now. It makes my heart lighter in my chest and it makes it easier for me to breathe. Don’t ask.
  • Seeing Stephen Sondheim talk as soon as I get back! SO EXCITED AAHHH! He is on my list of people to meet someday! I mean, not that I’m going to get to meet him, but I’ll be in the same ROOM as him, so it’s CLOSE.
  • THEN, in JUNE, guess who I’m going to see? No, guess. NO, GUESS. NEIL EFFING GAIMAN. He’s coming nearby to read from his new book (The Ocean at the End of the Lane) and I HAVE A TICKET TO SEE HIM. I don’t know if he’s doing a signing afterward. I’m so hoping he is. It’s his last book tour and if I get to briefly thank Neil Gaiman for all he’s contributed to my life over the years, well, that’ll be one of the highlights of my life, you know? Yes. Yes, I’m a total book geek. What of it?

Isn’t that quite the list of exciting things? Whoa. I’m the most fancy.

Looking back, looking forward

So on Monday, I was lazing around when I got home with the news on and someone was all blah blah blah tax deadline day! and I realized, huh. It’s April 15. It’s April 15th and I’m home at 5pm and I didn’t have to do tax season this year, and I didn’t have to deal with that stress, that bathroom-weeping, that potential to have files thrown at my face, that last-minute screaming, that “you go home when I SAY you go home”-ing, any of it. It mattered so little this year that it didn’t even register. I filed my taxes in early February, got my refund, and that was that. Done.

It’s easy to say, when you’re upset, “WELL! Getting fired was THE BEST THING THAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ME!” But on some level, you don’t believe it. That’s just you being stompy. Because it’s scary. Your safety net is gone. But the person that told me, over and over, it was the best possible thing that could have happened, and not to be afraid – well, they were right. Because this new job is amazing. The most stressful thing that’s happened there in the last four months is that there was no parking in the front lot, so I had to park ALL THE WAY IN THE BACK and WALK UP THE STAIRS instead of TAKING THE ELEVATOR. Oh, and it was also stressful the time the elevator almost started going up and the doors were still open. That was a little frightening. Like the Tower of Terror at Disney.

I’m being facetious, a little. But seriously: April 15th came and went on Monday, and I was nowhere near the tax office. It didn’t even register as a day. No one yells at me at work; I laugh there. A lot. We have fun, we work hard, I’m proud of what I do, and I’m doing a good job.

Sometimes when you’re petrified because you’ve been kicked out of the nest and someone tells you it’s all going to be alright and it’s the best possible thing that could have happened to you and you’d like to believe them but it’s super-scary? Believe them. Because it is. It is the best thing that could have happened to you.

So uncomfortable. And possibly unemployed for 5 months.

So uncomfortable. And possibly unemployed for 5 months.

How did I write this much? It’s so time for bed, yo.


Happy Thursday, people of the internets. May your day be the best of all days. Love your faces. MMM-WAH. (That’s a movie-star air-kiss. Nice, right? Totally nice.)

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