No Money? No Problem!

The following is a throw-back piece from my time in Syracuse.  It may seem exclusive to the snowy upstate city, but you can put it to use even if you don't live there.  Think of the video as more of a brainstorming tool to inspire thoughts of affordable local fun in a less-than-perfect economy.

If you need a little help getting started, here's something to prime the pump:
The piece mentions Dollar Mania Night at Flamingo Bowl--for you Southeastern Mass. residents out there, try Wonder Bowl's Sunday morning slot (9am-noon). You and five of your closest friends will have to exercise those bowling arms for nine hours--NINE HOURS--before you spend $15 a piece.  Not too shabby.




Moral of the story:  Stay flexible.  Deconstruct the belief that the weekend is limited to Friday and Saturday nights.  You may even have some green left over to do your holiday shopping--your loved ones will thank you.

'Tis the (Off) Season to Be Jolly

The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach--waiting for a gift from the sea.

-Anne Morrow Lindbergh

The greatest gift from the sea, in my humble opinion, is free access to it.  And, as most of you know, that free access is hard to come by. 

UNLESS...it's the off-season--that magical, if somewhat arbitrarily designated, grouping of dates that encompasses three-fourths of the calendar year.  My sermon to you:  Take advantage of that ginormously expansive and--just to reiterate--FREE window, my friends.

Spending parts of every summer on Cape Cod since before I had hair, I'm understandably partial to the curling peninsula's sandy getaways.  (But to justify my bias, I found that I'm not the only one who loves Cape beaches).

Most people prefer the ostentation and roar of the ocean side.  It's perfect for stormgazing, but I personally recommend the quietude of the bay beaches for post-Memorial Day bronzing and general dawdling.

My favorite coastal haven on Cape Cod Bay is Campground Beach, with a parking lot that holds ten times the number of off-season cars it sees and doesn't involve any embarrassingly exhausting dune climbing. 

And I don't think I can say this enough:  It's all FREE every Fall to Spring. 

Indeed, the sea "does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient."  So be flexible and find solace in the passing of summer--you'll be amazed how many perfect beach days the fall and winter (yes, winter) will surprise you with, and you'll see the conventional summer destinations in a way most people don't even realize they're missing out on.

There are more people at sunset than at noon; everyone
watches the sun dip down, as if the sky were some giant
projector screen.  Sometimes there are even applause after
the grand finale.

The Late Fan Catches the Free Tix

As you all know, Beantown and I are in the thick of a deep and passionate love affair, and as the city's mixed-blood lover, I can confidently say that you haven't experienced Boston if you haven't done one of three things:

1.  Downed a pint of Harpoon while singing "Sweet Caroline."
2.  Tried to cross a street in Harvard Square (shout out!).
3.  Screamed until mute at a B.C. football game.

The daughter of a B.C. alum, I've done my fair share of #3, usually from the GG alumni bleachers.  But today, my friends...today was different.

My mom was originally slated to watch the gold spandex splendor but chickened out when she heard that sporadic T-storms would be terrorizing the Bay State.  Enter giddy daughter.

By the time my dad and I had stuffed the car with towels, ponchos, and extra socks, we barely made it to the stadium in time for kickoff.  Of course, the one thing that eluded our packing whirlwind was our game tickets.

We were lucky that the ticket office makes ticket printouts for season ticket holders who find themselves in our exact unfortunate situation.  We were even luckier that--while we stood there in a line nine people deep, watching the first few minutes on the tiny flickering ESPN feed dangling from the wall (the same feed that everyone at home was watching all warm and happy)--a man walked up to the line and asked if anyone wanted tickets.  Free tickets.

All the other fans stared silently in polite hesitation.  But Papa P. ripped those babies out of the stranger's hand and booked it for the turnstile.  

Section P.  20 rows above the sideline.  At the most exciting B.C. game I have ever had the privilege to watch.  A crushing defeat of division rival FSU.

Muteness accomplished.  Eat your heart out, early birds.


You can buy yourself a piece of the action at the B.C. Marketplace, a kind of Craigslist of football tickets.

History Lesson

HISTORY, n. An account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, and soldiers mostly fools.

-Ambrose Bierce

If you're into falsities, knaves, and fools, the Freetown Historical Society's Open House will knock you out of your wool darned socks.

It was a step back in time for those of us intimately acquainted with my spec of a hometown. Blacksmiths were toiling away, making ambiguous sharp iron objects, and the repro schoolhouse had the same books we read in elementary school (probably not a good sign).

According to them, Assonet was a pretty prime piece of real estate in 1659, valued at "20 coats, two rugs, two iron pots, two kettles and one little kettle, eight pair of shoes, six pair of stockings, one dozen of hoes, one dozen of hatchets, two yards of broadcloth, and a debt satisfied to John Barnes, due from Wamsitti [the Native American] to the said Barnes." Not too shabby for a four-mile stretch of land.

Another grade school memory was resurrected when I visited a table whose proceeds benefited the Tyler John Trahan Memorial Fund. Tyler, the love of my second-grade life, was killed in Iraq this year; I bought a bell to help "Let Freedom Ring."

Apparently the thunder gods weren't too happy about the competition and started their own cacophonous ringing. A rainstorm doused the smoking embers of the evening's traditional clambake and sent the impostor Redcoats and Rebels running for cover.

Six of us were stuck huddling under the cover of Tyler's tent, the corners bulging with caught rainwater. My friend's dad, always prepared, began to beat his 18th-century infantry drum, and the whole tent started chanting in a kind of reverse rain dance.

It worked!  The sun finally broke through the drab. The heat crept up from the soggy ground and clung to my waterlogged jean legs as I waddled over to the library's fundraiser table. I ransacked it, stuffing my arms full of twelve books (for a grand total of $3.25).

Today's History Lesson: If I traveled back to 1659, the weather would still be as New Englandy as ever, but at least I could have myself a Colonial made of books and four miles of land to build it on.  Drive down to the Open House next year and see what history has in store for you.

Gone Fishin'

It's taken a while to get here, but the highly-anticipated and critically-acclaimed adventure of this gal and a fishing pole is finally available to the public!

The video quality didn't transfer all that well onto the web. The story, though, is by far my favorite that I've covered.

Professional fly fisherman Loren Williams and member of Fly Fishing Team USA let me tag along with him one morning in Syracuse. He even drove me the 30 minutes or so from Nine Mile Creek all the way back to Syracuse University when I experienced some technical difficulties.

Silver lining: During the ride, I learned he shared my understanding and subsequent love of New England seafood and was suffering similar withdrawal symptoms (times 16 years--he's lived in landlocked Syracuse since 1993).


It was incredible!  I think we maybe saw three people while we were out on the stream. Take a look at the gorgeously serene scenery and my earnest, if embarrassing, attempt at the sport. I highly recommend getting knee-deep yourself...just be sure to leave your ego at home.

An Unusual Case of the Travel Bug

I know I'm nearly out-stepping my bounds with a not-so-travel-related post, but I wanted to give you an inside scoop on what's going down at the Travel Channel.

This is the first piece I've edited for them--it's part of the network's new Catch It! campaign (the "It" being the travel bug). This video was one of five internal plugs for the campaign to help make sure every employee is eating, sleeping, breathing, thinking "CATCH IT!"

Adam Sutherland, a top-level strategist at the Travel Channel, offered himself up for the cause. The outcome was amazing. Keep an eye out for Pat Younge, the British-accented (soon to be ex-)President of the company.

WARNING: Playing the above clip could result in irreversible infection of the travel bug.

"THE TRAVEL CHANNEL. HAVE YOU BEEN EXPOSED?"

I Spy...An Empty Wallet

INTERNATIONAL SPY MUSEUM

GALval:  3.0 

Living (guess I'm more of a temp resident) in a city where nearly everything you'd ever want to do is free, it's hard to convince yourself that anything is worth sacrificing even one little copper Lincoln.

But I somehow managed to do it.

SUCKED INTO THE GAME

I was convinced/tricked into going to Washington's own, International Spy Museum.  You can tell from the website and its 10--soon to be 12--ticket options that this place was created to financially rape anyone easily seduced by neon lights and James Bond (and who isn't??).

Yes, I, like the rest of the giddy, dewy-eyed flock, was drawn in.  And once you're in, there's no way out.

In a trance, I laid down my $18 admission fee.  Then, I opened my wallet even wider, determined to prove that, yes, I could be a spy.  In fact, with my last $28 I made myself a Double Agent (it's just a deceptively cool way to say I bought an Operation Spy ticket and a museum ticket, i.e. I saved four bucks).

Couldn't decide between my Portuguese and Polish heritage--

who to spy for?

YOU DON'T PLAY THE GAME--THE GAME PLAYS YOU

Without giving away any spoilers, let me just say this:  Operation Spy is an operation best appreciated by the young (we're talkin' eight-year-olds, here) and imaginative.

It's a nice little group exercise, a kind of surreal life version of a Choose Your Own Adventure book.  Or at least that's what they tell you.  I'm of the opinion that the operation is static...and I don't have enough money to go back and find out.  (Damn those clever curators!)

An interesting option for the 14 and under crowd, but not worth the $14 (or $10 for you Double Agents out there) if you break the 5' mark.

A MUSEUM IS A MUSEUM IS A MUSEUM

I wasn't particularly taken by the museum, a melange of authentic and replica artifacts that see-saw between real-world spies and their fictional counterparts.   But then, I'm not particularly taken by the spy genre.

The structure of the museum, to its credit, is very user-friendly and interactive; it was a welcomed change from the doldrums of traditional setups that limit museum-going to a spectator sport.

While I'm no espionage fiend--though I can quote every Austin Powers movie--I can't dump on the International Spy Museum entirely.

It's hard to deny the wonderment of seeing, first-hand:
James Bond's real Aston Martin DB5 in all its silver splendor.

A piece of the infamous Berlin Wall.

A letter penned by George Washington imploring his "intelligence director" to create a spy network.

(Look for the pigeon exhibit--by far my favorite!)

*All of the above photos of the International Spy Museum were "illegally" taken against museum policy.  So shhhh!