saturday

Is it weird for a girl to love football so much? 

I can't help it, it runs in the family. My grandfather played in the NFL back in the day and—brag alert—was first round draft pick to the LA Rams in 1950. Following in my grandfather's college footsteps, my dad played four years at Villanova. 

Had I been born a male, I too may have gone on to be a football legend. But since we still live in a time where girls kicking ass in the sport is a rarity warranting national news, my chances were slim. Instead, I've settled for playing flag football and watching Georgia football. Lots of Georgia football.

It's hard living in Big Ten country and trying to describe exactly what SEC football feels like. 

In Athens, Georgia, Saturday is the holy day. We wear t-shirts that say things like "A drinking town with a football problem" and "The best time you'll ever have with 92,000 of your closest friends" (which is how many people Sanford Stadium holds).

We cheer just as loudly watching in the stadium as on TV. Loud enough to make it on the front page of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Loud enough to get kicked out of restaurants. 

This Saturday, we have a big game. Excuse me. A fucking big game. The ESPN crowd and Mike and Mikes of the world are surely betting against us. But I believe. 

Coach Lombardi said that the difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather a lack of will. It's about who wants it the most. And we WANT it.

 

buon [belated] natale

Gingerbread creations have become something of a tradition in the Pasquariello household around the holidays.


It started a few years ago with your traditional gingerbread house. Then we progressed to a gingerbread manger (including an edible baby Jesus). 


This year, we created a gingerbread desert scene, complete with three wise men, four pyramids, and a crash-landed UFO. I thought it was funny... but I've also been told that I have a warped sense of humor.


Here's what it looked like in the beginning, and then about two weeks later. Demolition has never been so delicious. 

BEFORE

AFTER

big change

After three years of long-distance dating (preceded by two years of same-town dating), Ryan and I have decided to meet halfway. His job has moved him from Boston to Indianapolis, so... I'm heading up there August 15.

Call it a leap of faith, or call it a little crazy: I'm willingly leaving a happy home, loving friends, an irreplaceable family and steady job. But to quote the wise wizard Albus Dumbledore, there comes a time when "you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy."

I could easily never leave this place, this city, these people. But I know it is the right time to make a change, to take a risk, to shake up the etch-a-sketch and draw something new. And now, to answer a few FAQs:

Are you sure you want to do this?
Yes

Do you really want to leave your job in the middle of a recession?
No, but unless my company would like to open a satellite office in Indianapolis, my options are slim.

What will you do when you get there?
Not sure yet. I'm applying to two grad programs (one for a MA in English & one for an MFA in Creative Writing), but I'm also planning to apply to a few copywriter postions. And I'm not above kicking it as a bookstore employee for a little while. We'll see what happens.

Are you guys getting married?
Quello che sarà, sarà (this is intentionally cryptic; sorry to thwart your quest for answers)

Are you really sure you want to do this?
Yes*
*I reserve the right to complain about how miserable I may be this winter, when it's freezing and snowing, and I'm craving sweet tea and boiled peanuts, and missing all of you wonderful, beautiful people who have my heart back in the south.

[photo credit: Trey Pasquariello]

springtime in the city

"Operation Atlanta Appreciation" continues. Here's the weekend report card for a few firsts:

Fox & Hounds = B
Technically I've been there twice (but I didn't write about it the first time).
Pros: big open patio with lots of seating, cheaper than midtown, closer than the highlands, quality time with friends
Cons: slow waitstaff, unreliable mix of music

City Grilling = A+
When Walmart says "Save money, Live better," they aren't joking. For $15, I'm the proud owner of China's cheapest charcoal grill.
Things I've grilled so far: ballpark beef franks, buns, chicken with Hot Squeeze sauce.
Things I plan to grill: everything, from now on.

Dogwood Festival = A+
Today's rain may have kept the masses at bay, but for the few and brave among us, it was worth the trip. So very tempted to buy something from this local artist. I think I will, I just couldn't choose which one I wanted to splurge on.

fading summer

"Ah, when to the heart of man

Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?"
-Robert Frost

Resisting change, I believe, is one of the most basic human instincts. And I'm completely guilty of it. Though I love the start of a new season, I can never wholeheartedly embrace the change. There remains a part of me that clings to the familiar. In this case, a part of me that is not ready to pack away the flip-flops, sunscreen and flowing skirts. A part of me that pouts when the sun sets before 8:00 pm.

But I'm learning that one way to welcome a new season is to bid a proper farewell to the passing one. Given this, I'm trying to appreciate the last days of summer — noting the nuances of the season, and all that it carries. Because just when I start to think, I'm ready for fall (like when my legs, arms and even knuckles are swollen with mosquito bites), I find some new little piece of summer to fall in love with.

Take, for instance, your typical chlorine-soaked suburban swimming pool. Have you ever looked at the bottom? Like really seen it? It is dizzying, but amazing. The sun cuts through like tiny laser beams, dancing and scattering along the bottom, in a strangely chaotic-but-fluid rhythm, breaking patterns as soon as they are formed. Or, the way the water feels when you swim? It envelops and transforms your body into a foreign, nearly weightless being. Swallowing you whole, the water feels like a strong wind blowing against your skin, but from every direction at the same moment. [model: my cousin Emma, age 4 1/2]

I'm grateful for these last days of the season. But I know that, as with all things, this too shall pass. My obsession with summer will end September 21. My obsession with fall will promptly take its place, on September 22, with a vengeance.

i don't love baseball, but...

I do love spontaneity. 5:45 yesterday, my Dad calls; "Hey, I have 5 extra tickets to the Braves game. It starts at 7:15. Want to go?"

It was $1 hot dog night. I did not partake, but my dad did. We sat behind first base. When I say 'we,' I mean me, my dad and about 15 of his colleagues.
I also love: the first signs of Fall, my father who throws peanuts at girls standing in the way of the game (ok, fine, I gave him the idea), admiring the ATL skyline on the drive home.

[my dad demonstrating the oh-so-politically-incorrect Braves tomahawk chop]

ode to athens

This past weekend I gained a renewed appreciation for the city of Athens. I went up for a day with 2 of my 3 long-loved but retired roomies (we missed you Meg), traipsed around our old stomping grounds and discovered some new ones.
Eat: Transmet (best damn food in the state of Georgia as far as I'm concerned), Little Italy (the best grease money can buy), Last Resort (good menu selection, if you can stomach the snooty staff), Calientitos (authentic mexican)
Shop: Pitaya (cute boutique), Junkman's Daughter's Brother (everything under the sun. really.)

Play: Genco (classic), The Loft (for old time's sake, back when it was the Annex), 283 Bar (fun but chill, slightly "older" crowd. by Athens standards, that means over 19.)

Though we had a great time, I stumbled upon a realization that led to a few other realizations. Number 1): my college days are over. Subsequent realizations: 2) I am either really slow or 3) I have been living in denial. Even though I've been back to Athens a handful of times, it has always been on football weekends when a lot of other friends are around. To be back there this weekend, it felt a bit like a ghost town. And I was a the ghost.
But I'll end on a light note. Later on Sunday, back in Atlanta my friend Dana sent me an old email that she found. I had written it to my roommates when we graduated and left Athens 2 years, 3 months and 1 week ago:

On the way home, i tried to take 120 instead of 85, only to run into a blocked road and a detour. i started to get really pissed off because i didn't know where i was going, but then i just started to laugh. i know its corny, but i couldn't help comparing it to life right now... things don't always go the way you plan... sometimes you have a detour or roadblock along the way... none of us really know where we'll be 6 months, or 6 years from now... but ultimately, you wind up exactly where you're supposed to be. Four years ago, I drove down the same road in the dark, only It was the early morning dark, and my dad was driving me to athens with all my stuff packed in the trunk. I had no idea what to expect from UGA and had no friends there. now four years later, here i am driving home in the dark, already missing my three best friends, with all my shit packed EVERYWHERE, but this time I'm in the drivers seat. As confusing as it is to not know where we're headed, it's also thrilling at times. i sit here typing this in my room — with quite literally, pieces of my life scattered around — and as sad as i am, i have a gut feeling that, cliche as it is, although this is the end of an era, it is the start of a new one.
I'm extremely lucky to still have the amazing friends I met there. And even luckier that they live close by. And really, maybe the luckiest part of all is that I don't have to feel like I'm "getting old" on my own.

a first time for everything

I went to see Tropic Thunder with my brothers at Starlight Six. Fairly funny movie + excellent company + my first ever drive-in cinema experience = a fantastic friday night.

finish line fireworks

For the past five months, I've been training to run the annual Atlanta 10K, the Peachtree Road Race. I worked my way from 2 miles to 5.5 miles... and then two weeks ago developed an annoying pain in my right foot. After talking with some people and visiting my chiropractor, signs pointed to Plantar Fasciitis, the inflammation of the muscle that runs from the toes back through the heel. So I stopped running for a while, iced it and stretched a ton.
The morning of July 4th, race day, I was feeling pretty good. After an early breakfast of banana pancakes that my Dad whipped up, I met Ryan and his family to carpool downtown. We started out running with my friend Becca, who by some stroke of luck found us among the masses. What started out as a dull ache in my heel in Buckhead was a throbbing pain in my Achilles tendon by midtown. We stopped to walk for a minute, started running, and had to stop again. I wanted to cry.

Then right before Spring Street, I found my Dad's friend, 80+ year-old "Papa Bill," who has watched the Peachtree for the past 25 years. He was decked out in American flags, and as I left him he yelled through his megaphone, "Go, Devon, go!" So I did. The last 2 miles were a struggle, with a shooting pain consuming my right leg every few minutes, but I was hell-bent on running the remainder. We finished in 70 minutes — longer than I would have liked it to take, but under the circumstances, I was OK with that.
I'm exceedingly grateful for all the support and words of encouragement from my family, coworkers, friends and Ryan — who stuck with me, even though he could have run the course twice in the time it took us! THANKS EVERYBODY :)

a downside of urban living

In all my praise of this southern empire state, I failed to acknowledge its shortcomings. Atlanta has to be one of the worst places to drive. The fourth worst city for traffic, in fact. But what's worse than traffic? Shitty drivers.

One shitty driver in particular was bombing down Northside Drive at 9:25 yesterday morning. And this driver, in what resembled a 1960's Dodge Matador, decided that he was too cool for red lights. So when he came upon North Ave, where I happened to be plodding along, minding my own late-for-work business, Mr. Matador almost t-boned the Volvo.

Thankfully, it was not my time to go. I swerved. And I'm very grateful that there were no cars in the left lane that I swerved into.

north & south

My mom recently told me this bit of trivia about hydrangeas: the color of the flower depends completely on the pH of the soil. So the only difference between white hydrangeas and blue hydrangeas is the acidity of the soil they are planted in. And the more I thought about that, the more a strange parallel began to form in my mind: aren't the trials we endure, the ways we are tested and the adversity we face — aren't these what shape and color us, and make us what we are?

June 21st marked my family's 11th year anniversary of moving from New Hampshire to Georgia. The town I grew up in, Campton, had one traffic light. I knew every single kid in the 7th grade. The town I moved to had a middle school head count that dwarfed the entire population of Campton. The move had split my 13-year-old world in two: the world as I knew it, left behind, and the unknown southern abyss that loomed before me.

I hated it. For at least 365 days, I hated it every day. Hated the school, hated my classmates, hated my parents for making me move — you name it, I loathed it. The people talked strangely, and said things like "mash the lights" and "put your books up," when there was nowhere "up" to put them. I remember feeling "wicked out of place." Then I quickly learned that the word 'wicked' was not in a Georgian's vocabulary.

And then slowly, ever so slowly, the boiling hate started to simmer. A year after that, I had a fairly neutral opinion of the place. At some point during high school, a funny thing happened: I'd just been visiting my friend Laura in New Hampshire (who readily pointed out each time I used the word "y'all") and when the plane landed at Hartsfield Jackson, I sighed with relief and comfort. I felt like I was home for the first time.

Today, I'm grateful for both of my home states, and what they've brought to my life...


New Hampshire has given me:
an appreciation for the sound of snow and the smell of rain; a love of solitude; the ability to ski; a love of small towns and country fairs; & an enthusiasm for exploring the outdoors.

Georgia has given me:
a willingness to take risks; confidence; an open mind; an appreciation for SEC football; & the ability to make new friends.