Well, what do you know? Its summer.

Not a day goes by that my good ol' Dino doesn't faithfully yawn its LCD screen open after a bumpy journey from home to work and back. After 7 years, which must be at least 120 in relation to its compatriots, its still alive and kickin'. Yes, kickin'. Although, it seems to be on the path to self-destruction as its cracked itself broken, at the moment and threatens to become the 120 year old Headless Horseman for which we must at some point inaugurate a holiday or anniversary. Agreed?

Each day as I begin my day, I notice the little button on my toolbar labeled, "quiet time" and sigh when I realize I haven't written anything in quite a while. I think I must be only inspired at the beginning of the month, and then I just relinquish ownership or creative license for the remaining few weeks. Must be something to do with ...constellations...or moon cycles. Apparently, I've been told, more women deliver babies when there is a full-moon. Perhaps the delivery of brain-children functions the same way?

Alas, here I faithfully stamp my July footprint. Hopefully not the only one, but we'll see.

I've since started on a 9 to 5 work schedule and joined the group of 2008 college graduates. Yay for me! I'm prepared to miss being in classes. It seems to happen to everyone, once they realize that they're out of the system for a bit and don't yet own a car or a home...or any real furniture.

Its been a really good week of spending time with people. I've become familiar with about 10 different bus lines, mostly by accident and partly out of my spark of adventurous spirit that flits about and undermines what most would call, better judgment. Leaving work and finding my way over to different warm and happy homes - through puddles of rain or sunshine, after all, this is Boston - and returning home satisfied that I have won a victory: I have stayed awake past 8 pm and am not dead because of it.

Yesterday was the first time I've been in Boston for July 4th. Actually, probably the second time. The first time was right aftere I was born, but I doubt I would have appreciated the booming noises if I likely couldn't understand that the sounds were associated with sparkling colors and shapes... It was definitely an awesome experience. I've seriously wanted to see or hear the Boston Pops since I was...8 years old. I've had a long-time fascination with the BSO, Boston Ballet, and Pops since I was a kid and now I can cross all of these cultural things off of my "to-do" list.

Since my study abroad in Grenoble, France, I've constantly been trying to figure out a way to enjoy relaxing when the culture seems to have its heartbeat set on stress and heart attacks. I did make an interesting observation yesterday. I suppose the celebrating of last night throughout Cambridge was the closest Beantown has come to measuring up to the nightly excitement of European cities. There was always some artistic or musical festival going on, and if not, then there were cafes, gelaterias, parks, little paths, gardens, mountains to go for evening walks on or chat over a glass of wine or warm dish of creme brulee. There was always a lot going on in the evenings after people finished with their work day. In Boston, its kind of spotty. I'm not talking about nightlife in the sense of clubs and things...just the social, gourmet-enjoying, nature-exploring spirit that settles over European cities.

Boston is likely one of the more European cities in the states, I'd say. Well, my point is that I was reminded that Americans do have some of that spirit in them - they're not all like my neighbors in the ghettos of Allston who probably could make a decent chunk of change on the 5 cents a beer can that they put out into the street every week, and whoop and holler and light fireworks in the middle of my street on any day of the week, including July 5. Yes, July 5. They must've missed out on July 4th itself. Its been a pleasure, Allston, but as we learned in Washington D.C. on our 7th grade trip... not only am I ready, but "I WAS BORN READY" to get out of there. Fare thee well, soon.

Yes, Americans do have a celebratory spirit. But it only happens on holidays, sparked by the realization that they have an extra 24 hours that isn't going to be subtracted from their vacation days.

One thing I do have to say is I was infinitely grateful that I made it safely into my bed last night. I was remembering the very scary experience of celebrating France's Independence Day, otherwise known as Bastille Day on July 14. I had been staying at this little room at an inn in Paris that was owned by a new brother in the Church in Paris. It was 15 euros a night and actually was a supply closet with a bed in it. It also happened to be at the very end of the most southern line going to a southern arrondissement, I think. The pink line? I now forget what its called. Basically, it was very far from central Paris and I had to change twice on the Metro to get to my residence for the weekend. I was with a few other students on my program who were staying either in hotels close to the city or with a friend from college who had studied in Boston.

I had enjoyed the day thoroughly, as some friends and I had camped out under the Eiffel tower and had a picnic the whole afternoon and then watched as the Tour Eiffel lit up and sparkled...and then the fireworks started. It was altogether very beautiful. And crowded.

Alas, trying to get home at 11:30 pm was when the nightmare started. The crowds were Incredible. My friend had to cling to my waist so that I wouldn't get myself lost or carried off by the mass of people heading to the trains. The police wouldn't let people into the station for long periods of time because all the trains were full. This posed a definite problem for me, because, I needed to get to a certain stop in order to catch a transfer...all before the last trains stopped for the night.

Well, when I finally got on a train by the Eiffel Tower (worse than your worst T experience in winter), it was about 12:10 am and I had already bade my friends goodnight as they went to their respective hotel/friend's homes and by the time I got to where I needed to transfer, I was getting genuinely scared because...

The last train had already left 10 minutes prior. So, I was stuck, perhaps a good 30-40 minutes away from where my belongings were. And I had only paid attention to the cardinal direction of the route once before. Uh oh.

This isn't like getting lost in Boston when I could, if I needed, call someone to come in their GPS-equipped car to fetch me. I had enjoyed my Bastille Day experience, and now, I was in t-r-o-u-b-l-e. I was going to have to take care of the mess myself. Well, I left the station and was feeling altogether stressed as it was, after all, July 14 and there were lots of people around, but, as it was 1:30 am already, I was stranded in Paris and trying to figure out how to not look like I was scared and vulnerable while I determined the appropriate course of action. The crowds were much thinner - about 30 people tops in the square outside the metro station I had ended at. Taking deep breaths, I tried first to call one of my friends to relay my predicament and to see if he could get a cab number for me to call (all on my American cell phone...which, I ended up racking up a good $500 bill for because I didn't understand how the phone card worked. Ouch). I ended up flagging down a cab and somehow telling the cabbie to go to that metro station in the south of Paris (which, when we got there, didn't look like where I lived, and I didn't have a map on me...).

The cabbie ended up going to the opposite side of the station than I was famiiar with and he was going to just drop me off, but I could just envision myself walking on one side of it and actually genuinely being lost...so I figured I would let the cabbie make a few more euros rather than walk around in an unfamiliar neighborhood at 2 am trying to find my inn in the dark.

We eventually found my street and I, exhausted, and totally drained emotionally arrived into my supply closet with a bed at 2:45 am.

Moral of the story - don't stay out too late in a foreign city, on a day of major celebration, and then try to find your way back to your residence alone and without a map. Good plan, huh? Well, after that experience, I can say that nothing can seem too adventurous in the realm of transportation stories after that. Those of you who might read this who know of my transportation woes in Boston will probably appreciate the fact that I've toned down my Disastrous and Potentially Dangerous Line of action and leaning towards the Dashing After Moving Vehicles sort.

The 4th of July was exciting, and without woes, for which I was infinitely grateful to be in America where I knew my way around and could, if absolutely necessary, successfully walk wherever I needed to go. Oh, and speaking the language 100% fluently helps too :)