So last month, we got married! By which I mean, we eloped two days after we got engaged. For all those with questions, here are some reflections: 1. The engagement I am very utilitarian, so I tried to propose to the gentleman over Skype. But. . .
You’ve heard all the usual songs, with jangling bells and presents for pretty girls and angels on high. Below, a few other songs I’ve collected over the years. I’d love to hear about the songs you enjoy, as well. When you’re caught in traffic… try Driving. . .
After writing about factors in choosing a joint family name, I found an article about a couple who gave their child her last name, not wanting that situation: “when a couple decides to use both names as a last name, [but] usually the woman’s last name. . .
On a sunny day this past June, my friends Linnea Katzen* and Colin Hill* got married. Right away, people asked Linnea for her new name. They called her Mrs. Hill. She didn’t ruffle feathers in public, but her discussions in private were fierce. Linnea. . .
The day after our wedding, we enjoyed a Thanksgiving potluck with fifty of the gentleman’s closest relatives. And the next day, I stopped by his aunt’s house… and inherited the family genealogy. As a building block for other writing, I just want to note. . .
In my continuing series of cheesy walk-throughs of online data tools, there’s SimplyMap! My college subscribes, so you can’t easily play with it unless you’re one of the digitally lucky. However… in the interests of education, I’ll point out some fun things you can do. . .
I’ve talked about using the US census to estimate your dating options in America, in Maine, and in selected US cities. If you’d like to explore your own area, here’s how to get started: 1) Set up your account and use the online analysis tool. . .
“…Before we were serious,” I admitted to my boyfriend, “I was scoping out dates using the census. And my odds weren’t good. There were only like 100 eligible guys in our area of Maine.” “Yeah, but my odds were even worse,” he laughed. I. . .
A few months ago, I took my bike in for repairs to a local business, where the friendly and tattooed owner began chatting me up. Filling out forms extremely slowly, he told me all about his businesses, his son’s private school, his plans for. . .
This was a long winter. The night snuck in early, and stayed overtime. The snow piled, snow on snow, and I would complain–except I can’t, because Boston. No one got as much snow as Boston (as they like to remind us). And what snow we did. . .