The Winter Solstice Approaches

Seen today on the streets of Hanover...

One man in black, wearing a sun-god mask.

I've heard rumors of the Dartmouth Sun God, an (alleged) graduate student, who is frequently seen in costume at all hours of the day and night.

Apparently my brother's friend once challenged him to a dance contest at 2AM on the Dartmouth Green. Dan and I crossed the street to avoid him, so we are apparently less open-minded.

First Snow, First Pub Quiz

So Dan was supposed to write this post. Mainly so I didn't have to brag about myself. But, I guess it has to be done...

Saturday was an auspicious day. It was our first truly snowy day, our first day of proper snow and it arrived at the proper time of year. Snow in December is acceptable. Actually, it’s beautiful. The snow started early and lasted all day, steady but never heavy. As we walked up Main Street to dinner, with the twinkle lights twinkling and the snowflakes falling and a thin layer of snow covering the ground, the trees and the oversized Dartmouth Christmas Tree sparkling straight ahead, on the Green… and we were bundled in our warmest winter jackets (mine is awesome!) and snow boots and hats and the moment was absolutely lovely. And sadly impossible to capture on film. Though we tried.

It was the kind of evening where everyone would be home "snowed in" in say, D.C., but of course everyone was out in Hanover.

Which we were happy about because… we had places to be, and specifically Pub Quizzes to attend.

Pub Quiz, for those not familiar, is basically “trivia night.” In Charlottesville/D.C./PA – most everywhere I've ever lived – Pub Quiz is played in restaurants/bars on odd days of the week, generally to draw a crowd. There are several rounds, sometimes themed and teams work to get the most answers correct. Think Trivial Pursuit on a grand scale (with no dice.)

The thing is, I'm awful at Trivial Pursuit. So awful that Dan is (famously) on record claiming: “I’ll play with anyone but Kerry on my team.” This is a true incident from college.

So I wasn’t feeling especially optimistic about Saturday’s Pub Quiz. Even though Dan did agree to be on my team, this time. But, we showed up. Our team showed up (which was a minor miracle, considering one member had three college friends in town. Who as it turned out were total assets to the cause!)

We got off to a rocky start. It turns out geography is not our thing. Even if Rob DOES have a map of the world above his dining table. (It's a map from 1988, which might be part of the problem.) After that, we improved somewhat but it wasn’t until the “music” round that we hit our stride.

And here’s where I get to brag: 20/20!!!!!!!

Wow, you might say. How, you might ask? Well. It turns out I have some crazy music knowledge… actually, it turns out I have some RANDOM music knowledge.

Actually, it turns out I know who Tiffany is. (You may remember her from “Full House” – the Tiffany Live From Tokyo episode – or “How I Met Your Mother” – the Sandcastles in the Sand music video.) Then again, maybe you won’t remember her. Apparently no one else does… (Which, side note, is a slight tragedy. I mean “I Think We’re Alone Now?” Totally a classic!) Nor did anyone else seem to know that Foreigner sings “I Want To Know What Love Is.” And who else can identify “Party in the USA” after one second of play?

(Actually that would be the entire Tuck class for that last one.)

Sadly, we only came in fourth. Or tied for third? Things got a bit crazy at the end… and for that I blame our four Boston College boys – none of whom could tell us who the third wise man was (I mean, seriously, BC is a Jesuit school!) (Third Wiseman = Casper) Also it turns out I’m not so good at identifying company logos. (Only in business school would this be a category.)

Maybe next time. Until then, I need to befriend the quizmaster. Any guy who has Foreigner, Tiffany, and Radiohead on his iTunes must be worth knowing. (I’m giving him a pass for the Miley Cyrus. It is after all, the Tuck anthem.)

Pot Lucks and Peter Christian's

Today's blog is about food. Specifically, it is about cooking and condiments. For those who know me, these are two of my least favorite things. I am a terrible cook and a condiment-phobic. These are well-documented facts. Which is why today's topic is more than a little ironic.

Cooking: One of my most surprisingly favorite parts of New Hampshire this fall has been our improbable potluck dinners. This is how it started. One day, two of the only girls I knew by name invited me to dinner. In a restaurant. I like dining in restaurants. I liked these two girls. So I said yes. We had a lovely time. We said we should do this again. Two weeks later, we did, with one new addition. Two weeks later, we were invited to dinner by the new girl... at her house.

So it turns that Anna (along with her fiance) is basically a foodie and an incredible cook. (We dined on pasta in a pumpkin cream sauce.... so delicious.) But with Anna cooking for five (our group had grown, again) it seemed only appropriate to offer to bring something. And thus the potluck was born.

We have potluck every other week on a Thursday night. Our invitee list is up to ten - all girls and all partners (i.e. the wives/fiances/girlfriends of students,) though usually we have six-to-eight takers, any given week. The host provides the main course and the guests bring the rest. This past Thursday was my turn to host... I prepared cornflake crumbed chicken and potatoes (because I am not a foodie nor a good cook) and, improbably, it was a success.

I love two things about the potluck: 1. The food. I may not be a fabulous cook, but some of the other girls are and I love sampling the variety we see every potluck. 2. The company. We're an eclectic blend, to say the least, which means conversation ranges from "how we met our husband/finace/boyfriend" to... well anything. I think this week we covered mole-removal, doctor phobia, hypochondria (no idea why the medical bent) to stalkers. Either way, it's always a trip. And, although this past week was in my own home, I love seeing where people live, what they've brought to New Hampshire with them.

One girl lives in Old Satchem with linoleum flooring and a circa-1988 Geography Map hanging above her dining table. (I learned last night that her boyfriend picked it up in 2004 from an old elementary school because he needed a window-blind.) One girl lives in the 3-bedroom house around the corner, complete with a fireplace. (So jealous!) One girl lives in a half-house; long and narrow (and her 6'4" fiance has to duck through every doorway.) But it's the cutest house!

So, surprisingly... pot luck is the best. Plus it gives Dan an excuse to go bowling and hit the bar with the boys. ...As if he needs an excuse!

On to the condiments. So, as you may know, Dan is not the first member of my family to attend Dartmouth. Both my father and my brother went to Dartmouth College for undergrad. As a child, we vacationed for part of many summers in New Hampshire. Which clearly involved the requisite Dartmouth visit. I remember many things about these visits, but one of them was my dad's favorite college restaurant. It was called Peter Christian's and it was an old New England pub, located a half-flight down beneath a dowdy clothing boutique. Peter Christian's was famous for it's black-and-tans and... it's mustard sauce. Spicy brown mustard sauce. Ew.

BUT, despite my non-beer-drinking, non-condiment-consuming self, I still loved that restaurant. The food (sans mustard) was good and I've always had a weakness for pub-style (i.e. Brotherhood of Thieves.)

Anyway, several years ago Peter Christian's closed. Today it's a Boloco (a Boston-based, lesser Chipotle.) Not at all the same.

However, it turns out there is another Peter Christian's twenty miles away in New London, New Hampshire. And on Friday we went to see for ourselves. It wasn't quite the same, no half-flight down, no dowdy clothing boutique. But it's all wood interior and corner circular booths were cozy and we had a lovely meal.

And Dan loved the spicy mustard.

The Meat Sweats and Other Relevant States of Being

Saturday, November 21: the Annual Wild Game Supper at the Bradford United Church of Christ in Bradford, Vermont.

$25 for something like 25 different kinds of meat prepared in a variety of ways. An average of 900 served in the church basement dining hall. A tradition more than 40 years old.

Tell me this doesn't sound like an amazing way to spend a Saturday.

When I first read of the Wild Game Supper - in the UVAC Weekly Newsletter - I knew immediately it was something I had to see for myself. I informed Dan of this, almost immediately, and no surprise he laughed at me. Why? Probably because I am not the biggest meat eater. Sad but true. I dislike steak. I tolerate cheeseburgers on rare and special occasions (side note: I ate the best cheeseburger EVER at the Carpenter & Main in Norwich, Vermont. But that's another story.) I can take or leave turkey.

So moose, bear, and elk seemed out of the question. Except I wanted to go. Dan was obviously on board, too, (and as a legitimate meat-lover) although we did exchange a series of jokes re: the infamous meat sweats for days, weeks.

For those not in the know, the meat sweats are the result of an excess consumption of meat, that uncomfortable stage where you feel you've become one with the steak in the least flattering way. No one, upon leaving a barbecue, should smell like a barbecue, after all. When meat makes you sweat it's time to take up vegetarianism. Of course, I'd never been near the meat sweats, but who knew? Maybe the Wild Game Supper would be my chance...

Apparently we were not alone and before long we had a group of 28 meat afficionados assembled and ready to make the trek to Bradford, Vermont.

Bradford is yet another quintessential sleepy New England town, complete with rolling hills, church steeples, and an old mill (now a picturesque cafe with a kitschy name: The Perfect Pear.) In addition to meat feasts it also boasts lawn mower racing in the spring and fall, which might make it the coolest New England town I know. (Sorry Hanover.)

We pulled up outside the church and were immediately ushered inside to the waiting area. And by waiting area, I mean church proper. There we were, 28 b-school students and partners, lined up in church pews, listening to live music and catching up on our bible reading. Our tickets were numbered from the 180s to the 200s, but finally we were called, then directed to the basement.

The basement was a well-lit room with a massive kitchen and a row of fifty crock pots.

We were promptly served:

- wild game chili

- wild game sausage

- buffalo pie

- moose patty

- bear

- elk

- pheasant risotto

- rabbit

- rabbit pie

- roasted boar

- smoked boar

- [insert additional meats here]

Let's just say our plates were filled with meat. We were then seated at long tables, offered cider and potatoes and coleslaw and crackers with pate, in case the meat wasn't enough to fill us up. (We all avoided the pate... not that I like it under any circumstance but at a wild game supper in particular we were a bit nervous as to what sort of pate it might be... they definitely did not say, and as someone said "there must've been a lot of liver left over.")

Ick.

I wish I could tell you I sampled all of the meats, but I did not. I chickened out. (Pun intended?) I did, however sample some of them. Some in such small quantities Dan will tell you it doesn't count, but for me, this was brave.

My conclusions? Smoked boar: delicious, somewhere between bacon and ham. Rabbit? A slightly saltier more flavorful turkey. Moose... questionable. Bear? Too scary to try. If meat can look angry and fierce that would absolutely be bear meat.

So I didn't clean my plate, though some people definitely did. Altogether it was one of the most interesting afternoon/evenings I've spent in a long time. And while I didn't try the bear this year, the game supper is, as I've said, an annual tradition. But I probably won't eat it next year, either.

We stumbled out of the church in varying degrees of food comas, climbed into our car for the 45 minute drive home. And that's when Rob said to us, "So people have been talking about the meat sweats. Have you guys ever heard of them?"

Diwali Party in the USA

Last night we celebrated Diwali at the Tuck Annual Diwali Party. The event was one part educational, one part dancing, and – as is the case with all Tuck events – two parts alcohol.

Diwali, we learned, is the Indian Festival of Lights, the celebration of the return of Lord Raama to his Ayodhya after rescing his wife from the demon king, Ravana. Or at least, that’s the version we heard. I’m told the origins of Diwali Day vary from region to region and Wikipedia lists multiple versions… and if Wikipiedia says it, it must be true.

We celebrated Diwali with traditional food and dance performances from something like thirty Tuckies (and Tuck Partners.) And less traditional drinks, of course.

I have to say, I was impressed both by the vegetable samosas – which I love but probably eat incorrectly since I avoid all the associated dipping sauces – and the elaborate dance routines, costumes, and music. (Jai ho!) While there is certainly a strong international presence at Tuck, including India, dancers were by no means limited to any particular background. (See picture above.)

One of the things I love about Tuck is that in any given week Tuckies will rally to support an Intramural Hockey Championship, a Diwali celebration, and a wild game feast (today’s activity) with equal fervor. That kind of community support is rare and I think unique to the school. People love to be involved.

Possibly too much so… the room was so crowded, so overcrowded that my claustrophobia kicked in after the third or fourth dance number.

Still, at the end of the day, and as fun and delicious as Diwali was, grabbing a drink at Canoe Club with a few of our friends was my favorite part of the night...

A slightly different kind of community support, but I like to think it still counts.

Tripodism

Last night was the Fall season Intramural Tripod Hockey Championships. In case it isn’t obvious, this is a big deal. Tripod Hockey is constantly referenced at Tuck, but last night marked Dan’s and my first direct involvement with the league.

Our reasons for avoiding the hockey craze (or rather, my reasons for both of us avoiding the hockey craze) are as follows:

For Dan:
1. Dan has no hockey background and, to my knowledge, hasn’t ice-skated since high school (and even then it was only an excuse to hold hands with girls. Just saying.)
2. Dan is super competitive.
3. For anyone who has ever seen Dan play intramural softball, he enjoys sliding, diving, and basically upping the ante on anything physical. And that’s softball.
Add these reasons together and I think it’s clear that Dan would never make it through a season of hockey without breaking some major bone. Possibly more than one.

My reasons?
1. Have you seen me walk? I can barely manage a straight line when sober.
2. Have you seen me in heels? (I’m guessing no because I never wear them.)
3. I lack balance, hand-eye coordination, speed, agility, and the ability to laugh at myself when I (inevitably) humiliate myself on the ice.
So no hockey for me.
Also, on a completely prosaic note, hockey is multiple times a week at bizarre hours (midnight, 11:30pm) and some of us have jobs that start at 8:30 am. If Dan played I might never see him. If I played I might never sleep. And I'm cranky without sleep.

Which brings us back to the Fall Tripod Championships, the showdown between the Hollywood Hardbodies and the India Queens. I should probably mention that the Tripod hockey teams are named after Hanover bars. The girls league features 80s girl-power shows (Team She-Ra, Jem, the Rainbow Brites, etc.)

We knew players on both sides of course, but shortly after our arrival we were joined by Joelle, whose boyfriend Rob is on the Hardbodies, so we sided with them. I don’t have much hockey-watching experience, and it’s been ages since I’ve set foot in a rink so my first surprise was how cold it was. I mean, obviously I knew there’d be ice. But it was colder inside than outside. Fortunately I remedied this problem by purchasing my very own Tuck-logoed Snuggie.

(A quick aside and shout out to Tuck Stuff, the Tuck-themed apparel and accessories store. No surprise that a b-school has creative, innovative entrepreneurs, but still. This year alone we’ve seen the totally awesome “Business College” t-shirt – reminiscent of the famed John Belushi “College” shirts, the “Cheers” style Tuck tee (because here everyone networks until they know your name.) We’ve seen Simon Pearce glasswork with Tuck insignia. And now, Snuggies… and an entire line of hockey-themed shirts and sweats, conveniently located AT the hockey rink. Tuck Stuff, you are brilliant.)

So I’m Snuggied-up and ready to watch some hockey. The event is well-attended and well-choreographed. I’m told regular games are a bit more low key, but Tuckies know how to go all out. The teams warmed up to “Party in the USA.” (Side note: Someone at Tuck is clearly a deranged Miley Cyrus fan. Love her or hate her, “Party in the USA” does not need to played six times during one Fall Formal. Nor should it be played on repeat at a hockey game.) Fortunately, the music improved as the game progressed, because yes, they had music for every break, every icing call, every penalty.

The commentator was hilarious too. I kind of wish I knew who he was. My favorite quote: “Take off your pants and get down to business.” This was directed at the hockey players.

Before the game began the teams lined up for the National Anthems. Canada went first, but I preferred the Boyz-2-Men-esque rendition of the Star Spangled Banner, sung by a talented (?) Tuckie. Actually it was pretty impressive.

The stands were packed, too. Alcohol is not allowed in the arena, so the Tuckies brought in beers and hid them in their gloves. And I wonder why at work these adult b-school students are constantly referred to as “the kids.” But actually it was kind of clever and so cold in the rink that I kind of wish we’d brought a flask too.

Now if I ever had second thoughts about “letting” Dan play hockey, 30 seconds of this game was more than enough to remind me why he shouldn’t. Tripod Hockey is so named because it is (allegedly) for beginners, people who need two legs plus the hockey stick to stand on skates. That sounds well and good, but it turned out to be totally false. I realize these were the championship teams, and I’m told they sideline the bad players come playoff season, but they were good. They could skate. Some of them could really skate.

It turns out Rob can really skate. He was a star, with two shorthand goals for the Hardbodies.

Random Tuckie: “Joelle, did Rob play hockey in college?”
Joelle: “No. He’s just from Minnesota.”

Unfortunately the Hardbodies were down by one with 3 minutes left in regulation (Period 3) and by this point my hands were so numb all I could think was please do not let this game go into overtime. Fortunately, the crowd shared my opinion and brilliantly demanded that the Hardbodies “pull their goalie.” It should be clear that for all the Bostonites and the Minnesota-born hockey players like Rob, the average Tuckie has even less hockey knowledge than I have, which is really saying something. But “pulling the goalie” SOUNDS like a brilliant, bold move to make. I believe they did it in the “Mighty Ducks.” So it must be a smart move. (Although I recently learned that “Flying V” is not an accepted hockey move. Does no one else find this devastating?)

The Hardbodies weren’t fooled, but they indulged us anyway, pulled their goalie and… the India Queens scored again. The Hardbodies should have remembered that Rob only scores goals when they’re shorthanded.

The game ended 5-3, the India Queens are Fall Tripod Champions, and Dan and I can check off one more “New Hampshire” experience.

Are we surprised that Dan wants to play this winter?

And if you're drinking well you know that you're my friend and I say "I think I'll have myself a beer"

So since I decided not to fill this thing with nonsense regarding statement of cash flows, organizational design, excel modelling, and bond calculations, I'll talk about what is filling up most of the rest of my time: Booze.

I say that with some hint of sarcasm, but not as much as I would have supposed entereing business school. Simply put: These people like to party. I thought I was prepared, but man, this harkens back to the days of undergrad. I'm not sure if it's a because there are abunch of fairly outgoing people trying to take advantage of their last few years of free time or if it's more due to the isolation of Hanover combined with the intensity of the program, but I'm not quite sure I can hang.

A few weeks ago we had a pretty great event, the John Barleycorn Oktoberfest. The John Barleycorn Society is the beer society at Tuck and, while not as established as the wine or scotch club, has a pretty good following. There's a good amount of beer appreciation up here and a surprisingly good selection of beers (although I didn't get this year's Stone Vertical Epic series beer so if you see it, grab me one, I'll trade something good from up here). The Oktoberfest ideally had German beers, but there aren't a ton of them up here so it was a mix of German and American German-style beers. Magic Hat, Sam Adams, and Harpoon all have pretty tasty offerings so it was a good time.

This past Friday was the International party which was fantastic. There were tables representing students from about 20 different countries, each with food and drinks unique to their locales. Some stuff was expected (cheap beer from Canada, rum and cokes from cuba, sangria from Spain), but there were some surprises including something-something sour from Peru, some gross drink from Italy made with prosecco and other stuff, and this great orange drink also from Spain. You can tell they were good as I have no memeory of their names (to be fair, I can't remember people's names either).

Finally, I come to my beer purchases, one of which I'm sampling now. There are a number of craft breweries in the general area: Harpoon, Long Trail, Smuttynose. All are tasty and all have some pretty good limited run brews. The Long Trail brewmaster series has a fantastic Porter which I've had a few of and a double IPA which is currently in the fridge. Harpoon has their Leviathan series and their Leviathan IPA is on tap at a bar around the corner. Additionally, they have a Wet Hop Ale I've got, but yet to try. Finally, Smuttynose has some of their "Big Beer" series, their Big A IPA which I'm excited about and the Farmhouse Ale which I'm drinking right now. It's not quite my style of beer, a Saison, but it drinks fantastically. I'm not going to try and describe it, but it's quite refreshing and is the kind of beer you'd want to drink after being outside for a while (but make sure you eat first because it's a bit strong at 7.5ish%).

I'll try and write more and perhaps about non-alcoholic things too.

Because Border Patrol is Real

This is just a brief post to say that yesterday, en route to Boston from Hanover, we were pulled over by the U.S. border patrol.

Who knew that could really happen?

Although I was impressed by the border patrol's ability to tell we were "definitely Americans" just by looking at us. I guess?

When Going Green Goes Wrong

At least now I know where my cold came from and why half the people who were at this party have the same one...


(photo courtesy of 10 Maple and borrowed from this week's Tuck Sustains Newsletter.)

Blogging for the Sake of Blogging

So despite the criticism that my rapid rabid skunk post garnered, I am back for more and I will try to copyedit a bit better in the future (no guarantees.)

Posts have been few and far between recently and not only because I am now (post-skunk-debacle) a bit gunshy.

A series of mundane, non-New Hampshire-specific events have transpired, among them:

1. The Tuck Fall Formal (James Bond-themed - a good time was had by all)

2. I was facebooked by a friend from the seventh grade who moved back to Brazil when we were 13 but apparently still remembers me fondly. (I feel so.... memorable.) (Also, she was pretty awesome too.)

3. I have a cold.

Ok so maybe that last one is somewhat New Hampshire-y, though in a year when people are panicked about H1N1, a mere cold seems slightly blase. Even if I did miss two days of work (I've been living on cocacola and triscuits, alternating between sleeping and napping.)

Tonight, however, marked my return to the land of the living: dinner at Stella's. Stella's is, in itself, worth a mention (even if I am blogging somewhat for the sake of blogging...) Here in the Upper Valley restaurants are few and far between, but that doesn't mean we haven't found some truly excellent ones. On the contrary, I've been pleasantly surprised. So, while our friend Ryan-the-self-proclaimed-Thai-connoisseur considers the Thai place sub par, I thought it was quite good. Ditto on the Chinese place, the Japanese Hibachi place, and even the Mexican Gusanos (the one in Lebanon, not the one in Hanover.) Of course the Boloco (our local burrito spot) is no Chipotle, but we can't have everything.

Stella's Kitchen (stellaslyme.com) is located just up Rt 10 in Lyme, New Hampshire. The restaurant itself is in a house-like structure. In front is a small shop, one that would remind Arlingtonites of the Italian Store, only with an extensive beer selection in addition to everything else. (Needless to say tonight we walked out with two large bottles of some-new-brand that Dan had to have.) Behind the bright storefront is the softly lit, warm-hued restaurant, bar area (completely with comfy couches) and dining room.

We were brought to Stella's by two friends, (2nd year) Tuck students who are also UVA alums (a magical combination.) The last time we four had dinner they took us to the "Tip Top Cafe" (also excellent.) We now consider them our restaurant gurus/collect personal Zagat Guide to the Upper Valley.

Over dinner (I had potato & leek soup followed by vegetable ravioli in a beurre blanc sauce) and drinks (I had a soda as I'm still recovering from the non-flu,) we discussed some of the places/things we have to look forward to as we continue to explore the Upper Valley. So, tonight's blog may not be interesting, but keep the following in mind:

1. Tuck goes to Montreal (en masse, apparently, for a hockey tournament)

2. Kerry & Dan attend a wild game dinner (featuring several mystery meats)

3. Skiing (Dan will have to write this one as I'm pretty sure skiing would prove fatal for me.)

4. Driving in snow (I'm thinking this will happen any day now.)

5. Our first hockey game (watching... I'm pretty sure hockey would prove fatal for me, too, and I already know one girl who broke her wrist five minutes into her first game.)

So.... good things to come. I promise.

We also discussed the possibility of opening a Little John's in Hanover and I have to say, I think there's definite market potential. You may notice that in all the restaurants I listed above, there was not a single sandwich shop. I'm just saying... trust some future MBAs (and one MA in Lit.) Invest early.

Attack of the Rabid Skunk

Imagine you live in New York City. In Manhattan. You work for a major financial corporation. You epitomize urban, corporate America. At some point you decide to make a change. A change of pace, of scenery. You relocate to New England. New Hampshire. You accept a position as the associate director of Career Development for a small but renowned business school. You are successful.

And then one you take your dogs out for a morning jaunt and the four of you (3 dogs, one person) are attacked by… a rapid skunk.

Imagine the scene: you, running. Your dogs, barking, running. The skunk, charging. The house, in the distance. You, the dogs, and the rabid skunk reach the house at approximately the same moment. You’re there, in the vestibule and now the question is, how does one get a rabid skunk out of one’s house?

And this is when your friendly neighbor shows up and shoots the skunk with a 22.

So the rabid skunk is dead. Literally on the vestibule of your house. But this skunk did not go quietly into that good night. True the skunk was rapid, crazy, but not stupid. And so before he went he sprayed… over you, your dogs, and absolutely everything in your house.

Four gallons of bleach, three dogs baths, and two showers (not to mention the several hours of scrubbing, the vet appointments for your three dogs who now need rabies shots, and the killer skunk-smell-induced headache) later you cautiously venture into the office. You are wearing fresh clothes, ones sealed in plastic and hanging in your closet at the time of the attack. You think you’ve made it through the worst. You walk into your office to recount to your friends and coworkers your harrowing tale.

And one by one they wrinkle their noses because… you still stink.

This is a true story that happened to a woman I work with… this morning.

And that is life in New Hampshire. (Since this morning several of my coworkers have shared skunk-related tales.)

Funnily enough, moving here I was so concerned about the cold (and my inability to handle it,) I never thought of the wildlife. I never thought of the friendly neighbor with his gun collection (although seriously, he is the hero here, kind of.) The lesson here? Beware of rabid skunks, obviously. BUT, if you should happen to be sprayed… use tomato juice and vinegar and do not come into the office because the smell takes a week to really go all the way away.

BUT if you do come into the office it is likely that everyone will feel so sorry for you they will spontaneously decide to buy you a spa gift certificate. Because that is exactly what happened. If you had seen/smelled this woman you would agree: never has someone deserved it more.

(PS: I'm touched that the only comments I've received on this post, to date, are a commentary on typographical errors. Although, rereading the story... the skunk was pretty "rapid" in his movements. And rabid. Both.)

Further Adventures in New England-land

As this morning’s snow (see previous entry) heralds, in my personal opinion, the end of fall (or at least the end of fall where snow is not at any moment a real possibility,) I thought it appropriate to catalogue a few of our recent “fall” outings.

Last weekend we celebrated our anniversary at Simon Pearce, over in Queechee, Vermont. I have loved Simon Pearce since I was a little girl, though this was my (our) first experience actually dining there. I should mention that Simon Pearce is famous not only for its food but also for its exquisite glass and pottery. (Really, it is perhaps MAINLY famous for its glassware and pottery as the restaurant caters primarily to the Upper Valley and one can ship glass to anywhere. I’m guessing my horseradish-crusted Blue Cod served over mashed potatoes in a beure blanc sauce wouldn’t ship through the mail quite so well.)

As a little girl my parents would often bring me and my brothers to Simon Pearce to watch the glassblowing. So on Wednesday that is exactly what Dan and I did. The glass-blowing happens right there, on site. Behind the restaurant and below the gift shop. In maybe ten minutes we watched a glass artisan turn a shapeless mound of molten glass into a pristine vase that retails for $98 or so. (Sadly, not in our price range.) Watching him work was incredible. His movements were methodical, calculated, but even so he did everything by eye. When finished, he compared the new vase to an existing vase and it was a perfect match.

And I have to say, drinking water and wine from thick glass goblets made on site was pretty cool. Oh, and the food was amazing.

On Saturday, Dan and I spent the afternoon in Woodstock. The drive was gorgeous, the leaves – currently being pelted from their trees by murderous snowflakes – were at peak, or just past it. I think actual “peak” may have been last Wednesday, but close enough. Winding through hills, sloping mountains in the background and the blue sky peaking through and the trees all red and gold and orange and green… I made Dan pull over so we could take about twenty pictures.

Woodstock itself was fairly adorable. It has – like most New England towns, it seems – one Main Street, lined with shops and restaurants and ice creameries. We wandered through, stopping to take pictures off covered bridges, peeking in shops, checking out restaurants. We stopped to eat in Queechee (on the way) at a diner that was literally a dining car. And while I may have ordered the cheese fries, I should point out that they were covered in local Cabot cheddar, Vermont-cured bacon, and fresh scallions. And while I drank coke, it was out of a Mason jar. And yes, I realize none of this makes my meal any healthier. But it was delicious.

In the end, we left Vermont with one jug of Maple Syrup, one bottle of ice cider (like ice wine, but cider,) one bottle of Apple/Maple wine, one green-and-white flannel shirt, and one kazoo.

What can I say, I like kazoos?

We’re either super New Englanders these days or we’ve become one of those couples people mock. At least we didn’t actually stop at the pink-paneled, double-decker-porched Victorian-style B&B I thought was so adorable…

Also, on the way home we stopped at a roadside stand to buy pumpkins for outside our door. Only, we have them inside, for the moment. Because it's snowing.

Let it snow... just not in October.

It is 7:23 AM on October 13 and I just wanted to state for the record that it is snowing. Large, white flakes. Outside the window. Falling.

Welcome to New England.

Fall A Finished

So it's been quite a week. I had two in-class finals and a take-home final, all which wrapped up on Tuesday. After the stats final, we were directed to go into this one area of the campus and it turned out there were a bunch of second-years waiting with champagne to toast us for completing the first term at Tuck, which is a tradition that's been going on for some time. It was quite intimidating, walking into a room full of well dressed people cheering loudly while you ran down a gauntlet while being toasted.

After that was all done, a big group of us went out to Longtrail Brewery in Vermont for a very enjoyable afternoon. They have about seven different beers that they make there and an outdoor porch on a river. The Porter, Double Bag Strong Ale, and IPA were all tasty.

Yesterday was Kerry and my third anniversary and we hit up Simon Pearce which was fantastic. For those who don't know, Simon Pearce is a really cool glass and pottery manufacturer, which also holds a nice restaurant. We got to see them making some candleworks in-house before our dinner and I'm very excited to go back at some point.

Finally, today I got out on my bike and went on a great ride for about an hour and a half. I went up a road in NH and down a road in VT which followed the Connecticut River. Great few days and very glad to have a few days off.

So Brother Raise Another Pint...

Last Saturday, after taking a take-home final, I took off in a yellow schoolbus to the Killington Brewfest. For the next hour, I and 13 fellow beer fans had a wonderful tour of Vermont as we climbed the mountain up to the Killington lodge where the brewfest took place. Along the way, we saw a chili cookoff which looked delicious and a series of giant animals made using bales of hay. Quite a scene.

Once we got into the beer festival, we were taken aback with how many people were in the room. Downstairs was Harpoon, Shipyard, Budweiser, Otter Creek, and a bunch of other breweries. We skipped these for the time being and headed upstairs where we hoped the lines were shorter. Of course they weren't, but we waited in line for Dogfish, which was worth the wait. I found out that I actually like the Punkin Ale! First pumpkin related consumable I've ever liked. From there we headed off to another room in search of shorter lines one again.

After walking past some sort of an ompah band, we came to a room with Brasserie Unibroue, Allagash, Saranac, and a few others. Lines here were shorter and I had a couple octoberfests, a belgian triple, and a doppel of varying tastiness. To top it off, the UVA/UNC football game was on and as we were in line UVA scored a TD to go up by two scores! Huzzah!

After this, we headed back down to the Dogfish area and tried a whole bunch of different beers and ran into a bunch of other Tuck people so that was good to see. Eventually we made it back down to the first area and had a couple tasty stouts and watched while this dude on guitar played with his teeth. Very interesting.

Altogether, the day was pretty great. I got to hang out with a bunch of new people, I got a fancy new tasting glass, and had a bunch of new beers from all over the general New England area. Not a bad day

Wahoowa!

Wahoowa, Wahoowa, Uni-V-Virginia... only, we're at Dartmouth now, right?

Hanoverites we may be for now, but that didn't stop us from holding UVA night last night, right here in the heart of Dartmouth territory.

But why Wahoowa so far north? It began with a question of demographics. Or rather, an interesting statistical fact. For one: among the Tuck '10s there are more Virginia alums than any other undergraduate institute aside from Dartmouth itself. Among the Tuck '11s (Dan's class,) Virginia ranks fourth. All told there are 15+ Virginia alums up here right now.

I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. After all, there is something very UVA-ish about Dartmouth. Maybe it's their spacious green, second only to the lawn in my opinion. Maybe it's Main Street, which is every bit as Cornerish as the Corner with its coffee shops and burrito barns, clothing co-ops and student bookstores. Or maybe it's a personality thing.

Some Things I have Learned About Dartmouth Students That Remind Me of UVA Students:

1. They are VERY smart, BUT

1a. They are also work hard, play hard.

2. They know how to drink.

2a. They like drinking games.

3. They like games, in general. They love sports. Division 1 sports, club sports, IM sports. 70% of the student body plays something. (and the joggers rival the Cville joggers for their insanity and love of hills.)

4. They have crazy school spirit. (Seriously, Go Big Green?)

Sound like another school we know?

Some Similarities Between Hanover and Charlottesville.

1. One "main" street right next to campus/grounds.

2. A strong presence of local writers (Grisham for Cville, Piccoult, Bryson, and of course J.D. Salinger for Hanover.)

3. A strong presence of local artisans.

4. A lack of chain restaurants (not including the Rt 29 strip mall part of Cville, of course.)

5. Close proximity to the great outdoors. (land bridge, etc, for Cville.... all of New Hampshire for Hanover.)

You get the idea.

One thing we heard again and again last night was that Dartmouth FELT a little bit like UVA. Not quite the same, not quite as perfect for us, but a close second. And so it seems Hanover is, in many ways, a baby Charlottesville. A baby, icy Charlottesville. Which is why it makes sense that so many former Virginias would find their way here.

Even so, even if Hanover is a close second, it was nice to reminisce, nice to hear Cville referred to as "the motherland" in reverential tones. Our fellow UVAers range from members of the Class of 2000 to alums as recently graduated as '05. They've come here from Richmond and Boston and New York and D.C.

And perhaps most amazingly, though we spent dinner comparing dorms and sororities, comm school, ed school, arts & sciences, we knew no one. No one did. And so here we are, 5 years out, and still making friends through UVA, even as Dan attends Tuck in the heart of New England, about as far from bow ties and seersucker as you can imagine.

Because after all, Dartmouth isn't exactly like UVA.

Of course it wasn't a perfect evening....

Q: Kerry, were you in a sorority?

Kerry: No, I was on the Arts and Sciences Council.

Wahoowa?

An Evening with the Tuck "Partners"

"Partners" is the term given to the spouses, fiance/fiancees, boyfriends/girlfriends, and life partners of Tuck students. I realize the term is "PC" and that we live in an age of political correctness, but even so, I feel a bit odd when someone asks me who my "partner" is.

Then again, I should be glad we're not referred to as the "Tuck Wives Club" or the "Housewives of Hanover." I'm guessing Simon and Bob and Andrew and Colin would really hate that.

Dinner with the Tuck Partners will always be an interesting phenomena. For starters, we are people who have NOTHING in common, per se, except that our "partners" have all chosen to attend business school at Tuck. I mean at least "they" have that common ground to start from. Our "common ground" is tenuous at best... nebulous in general... and extraneous at worst.

By and large we're a self-selecting, self-segregating bunch, which I suppose is only to be expected. For starters, there are the obvious divisions: the male partners (few in number, but still a presence... and more on them later,) and then there are the mothers (more in number... there is after all something in the water here.) The mothers are understandably in a different place than the rest of us and I'm not knocking that. Children changes everything. You simply CANNOT join a literary and drinking society (more on that later) if you're expecting or have one or two rug-rats to manage. These are the truths of parenthood, the facts of life. I totally get that.

Then there are the rest of us. I have to say, one of my biggest fears in relocating to New Hampshire so that Dan, my husband, can attend graduate school is that I wouldn't fit in. I suppose I've been picturing the Stepford Wives, or cliques with names like the "Texas Wives Club" or the "Polygamists." Or something like that.

So it's been a relief to find that my fears are shared by others and moreover to find that there are others who share my love of sarcasm and mockery for any and all "Stepford"-ish activities. And this is how I came to spend the Tuck Partner Dinner with the boys.

I walked over to the LLC with Hillary and we met Erika coming in the door. The event was crowded - I have to say, I was impressed - though three partners I knew moderately well were not in attendance many others I did not know were there in full force. (Side note, this hit home for me about how anti-social I am really. Go figure, right?)

Well, the food was good and everyone was nice, but needless to say when all was said and done - that is, when my plate was filled with mac& cheese - I found myself not seated at a table in the Executive Dining Room of the LLC but in the lobby, cross-legged on the floor at the coffee table with Hillary, Erika, and the boys.

As I said before, the boys were somewhat self-segregating. I don't blame them. I just want in. They seem much more low key about... everything. Well, maybe weren't in the main room, at the official dinner, but we had a fabulous meal. We talked about Colin and Andrew's laundry service (their new scheme that is going to revamp drycleaning at Dartmouth,) and Colin's and my forthcoming "literary and drinking society" because neither of us can stand the thought of participating in a bookclub that reads "Housewives Eating Bonbons" as it's first fall pick. Amazingly, our society, which we have dubbed the "Barry Harris" society (inside joke) has met with sincere interest. Apparently the concept of a low-key, laid-back club that reads quality literature (and drinks quality wine, cocktails, etc,) is a novelty.

Actually, I think the real novelty is that we've found a group of people who aren't the stereotypical b-school "partners" and we want some sort of club to formalize the connection. Plus, quality literature? Good drinks? How can we go wrong??? The fact is we can't, not with Erika and Hillary and Colin, etc.

And so, that is how I spent the entire Partners Dinner in the lobby of the LLC, hanging out with some of my favorite partners... that is to say favorite people I have met at Tuck thus far.

"Fair" Play

Yesterday, Dan and I ventured out into greater New England for the inaugural outing of the Upper Valley Appreciation Club. The UVAC's first event boasted a bit of everything, from "Cool Old Things" to smoked turkey legs, prize-winning zucchinis, prize-winning cattle, carnival rides, and crisp apple crisp. And pig racing. Lots of pig racing.

Where could one find such varied wonders? At the Tunbridge World's Fair in Tunbridge, Vermont.

We couldn't have asked for better a day. We'd left the house, layered as usual, in preparation for an afternoon outdoors in almost-fall Vermont. But we quickly stripped off our jackets and sweaters. The air was cool, maybe, but the sun was very bright and sky perfectly blue.

Hanover is situated on the Connecticut River,

which itself provides the border between New Hampshire and Vermont. I have even jogged across state lines (which is much less impressive than it sounds as Vermont is less than a mile away.) Our drive to Tunbridge took just over a half hour, but it took us through some beautiful land. Highways in New England simply aren't like ordinary highways. They wind through green mountains, slope down valleys. In a few weeks the view will be even more impressive, the greens brightened by reds and golds as the leaves turn.

We drove with Erika and Jamie, two of our new New England friends. Most recently from Boston, Jamie is a Tuck first year and Erika a Hanover Town lawyer. Erika is our resident expert (born and raised in Lebanon, NH) and a founding member of the UVAC. (founding member, genius inventor, mastermind...)

At first glance the Tunbridge Fair is what you'd expect of a county fair, tough perhaps more authentically so. The locals are there with their prize poultry and vegetables, selling maple creamees and apple crisp. The stall selling backhoes operates in conjunction with AT&T wireless. For all your farming and phoning needs. There are carnival rides and fried dough and a magician called "Ed" with pointy, elvish shoes.

Erika found him creepy, though the children apparently did not.

The "main" event, from our perspective, was the pig racing, of course. This was my first pig racing, which is probably no surprise. We arrived only 15 minutes early, having wandered to apple crisp stall at the far end of the fair, and were shocked to find that the pig racing venue was packed. Apparently, pig racing is a big draw and not just for us. We paid a dollar each to bet on a "pig." I picked "Shakin' Bacon"; Dan chose "Hamma Montana." Erika and Jamie were set "Tyrone the Terrible," a pot-bellied pig racer.

The event was hosted by a pig racing veteran - indeed, he claimed this was his 20th year of racing. There were three heats and he commentated them as one would a horse race. Sadly, Shakin' Bacon and Hamma Montana lost in heats 1 and 2. This left only Tyrone in heat 3. For those of you who have never seen a pot-bellied pig race, well...

Heats 1 and 2 proceed about as expected. The pigs were excited, lured by the promise of Oreo cookies, of all things. We had high expectations for Heat 3, the pot-bellied pig race. The gate opened, the racers took their marks, the bugle sounded...

...and the pigs didn't move.

Despite our master of ceremony's enthusiastic commentating, this race took approximately ten times as long as the others. The pot-bellies were simply more interested in sitting, resting, sniffing, and... so forth. And sadly, by the time the first pig was coaxed across the finish line, Tyrone the Terrible had not yet turned the first quarter.

Though we were 0/3 on my first pig racing, we were treated to complimentary "Pro-Pork" bumper stickers. So our day at the "races" wasn't a total loss.

And of course, we then lined up to slide down the giant slide while seated on old potato sacks. There's nothing like a fair to bring out the kid in you... or your b-school buddies and their partners.

My hero, the burglar

Okay, both are Dan. But seriously, he just broke into our apartment using my George Mason student ID.

We'd been to dinner at the Canoe Club, one of Hanover's nicest. Imagine low lighting, live music - think piano/bass not acoustic guitar - a fab wine list and an impressive beer selection. I dined on butternut squash bisque and pasta primavera, Dan had mussels and the steak. We paid the check, strolled home and... no keys.

I've been locked out loads of times, but I generally depend on Dan to be less flighty. Still, we don't panic, though it is Saturday night, post 8pm and neither of us has the number of our property manager. Instead, Dan determines quite rationally that we should break in. It was either the credit card or climbing the balcony (to break through the screen door.) I am very glad method #1 worked as I can't imagine Dan - anyone - scaling our balcony.

Still, I'm beyond impressed.

And, as an afterthought, slightly concerned about our general safety.

Upper Valley Appreciation

Clearly Dan and I need to work on our blog-updating. Of course, things have been busy. That being said, I think things will continue to be busy.

We knew Fall A/Fall B would be the worst and so far, they are. Dan's first term - Fall A - is only 4 weeks in length, but the professors have crammed 6+ weeks into that time. On the plus side, Dan's already to midterm. On the downside, midTERMS.

Of course, when he's not busy with schoolwork they've continued to inundate him/us with social obligations. The bulk of these are not my cup of tea. Case in point: Saturday I am required to participate in a scavenger hunt while dressed in costume. (Our team theme is "pajamas" which I realize on the scale of embarrassing to awful is merely embarrassing as opposed to awful, but I am concerned by how costume parties seem to be "the thing" at Tuck... and across Dartmouth.)

Embarrassing scavenger hunts aside, I think we are starting to settle in. We are now official New Hampshire residents. Our shiny new Nissan Rogue has "Live Free or Die" plates (see Dan's entry on mottos for a visual) and our drivers' licenses are being reissued. I can now safely navigate to the grocery store, the local Friendly's, and back - though I have to say I am loving how little we drive. The undergraduates are back and Hanover is bustling. Or as bustling as a college town with only 4000 college students can be. The air is crisp and the water clear, the mountains very green. But fall is coming. And then winter.

Other recent events include the Tuck Club Fair. Tuck clubs are open to students as well as partners and Dan and I went hoping to find an activity we could really become involved with. The thing is, the "Executive Visitation Club" really isn't for me. Nor is the Tuck Partner's book club, which seems to pull exclusively from Oprah. Imagine a movie with a book club in it and unless that movie is a quirky indy-film that defies expectation and cliche, you know what I mean.

Colin - one of the few male partners who has trekked up to Hanover (with his lovely fiancee, Anne, a first year student) and I have proposed a "literary drinking society" to replace the aforementioned book club. Until that happens, Erika, Harvard law alum turned small town lawyer (and wife to Jamie, another first year) has devised a plan for a completely brilliant new organization.

She calls it the "Upper Valley Appreciation" Club. The UVAC's endeavor is to showcase the things we "should do" while living in New Hampshire. As such, we will be attending a pig fair on Sunday. And in a few weeks... lawnmower racing. Future activities involve Ben and Jerry's (the factory, of course,) haunted haystacks, Harpoon Brewery tours, etc etc.

One of the main attractions to moving up here for b-school was the chance to experience something new. And, let's just say no past experience of mine involves souped up lawnmowers, going for gold. So I am happy to say that we are now officially foraying into "New England Culture" and starting to appreciate this place, the Upper Valley.

On State Mottos (Mottoes?)

The motto for New Hampshire, if you are not aware, is "Life Free or Die." The internets tell me that this came from a toast General John Stark wrote and I wholly approve of any mottos that originate from any sort of drinking related activity. Moreover, any sort of ultimatum with the negative ending in death is ok by me. Two prime examples of this are 1) Skate or Die, one of my favorite NES games and 2) Til Death Dewey Party, a great shirt and beer koozie I got at Dewey beach when I was 7 or so.

I think a state motto tells a lot about a state. Virginia's, as you may know (and may someday be tattooed on my body) is "Sic Semper Tyrannis" or "Thus Always (Death) to Tyrants." Great line. Contrast this to Maryland's motto, Fatti Maschii Parole Femine which translates to "Manly Deeds, Womanly Words." Weak sauce.

I'm hoping my time in New Hampshire will be full of living free and not so much of dying. It should be a very interesting couple of years and a far cry from my 26 years living in the Commonwealth. You can expect to see my entries on this site to include adventures, hilarity, beer, and music. Every once in awhile I may mention school, but I won't bog this down with that. We'll see how it goes.

Welcome to New Hampshire

To review: last January an envelope arrived rather randomly, informing my husband that he'd been accepted into Tuck, Dartmouth's school of business. It was a Wednesday, I believe. When he decided to attend, it meant a big move for the both of us. I've lived in Virginia (more or less) since age 18 and he's lived there all his life. And now...

Hanover, New Hampshire. Home sweet home as of August 7, 2009.

Population: 4000 Dartmouth students, associated faculty, university administrators, and a very few non-affiliated individuals like myself.

It's strange to be neither teacher nor student in what is very much a college town. Even the word "town" seems a stretch - Hanover is all of one street ("Main Street" of course) in size. Still, it's August in New England and though I may feel differently when winter hits come October, for the moment, Hanover is green, lush, and mild.

Our new apartment is a block from Main Street, the second story in a garden-style complex, which means (fulfilling a longtime dream of mine) we have a balcony. Our landlady, a petite Frenchwoman called Helen, thoughtfully furnished it with a plastic table and chairs. I actually mean this sincerely - it WAS thoughtful and we've already enjoyed wine and cards on the balcony as a result. Less thoughtful was the apartment full of 70s-era dorm furniture, broken lamps, and expired canned goods that also awaited us. Needless to say, our first day of move-in was somewhat stressful - the de-Helenization process took time. (Not to mention the actual unpacking process.)

Still, we love the place: one great room, for living and dining - a kitchen adjoining (small, but still!) two bedrooms and a full-sized washer/dryer. I'm not sure when I became the kind of person who is legitimately (to say inordinately) excited by the prospect of full-sized laundry appliances, but here we are. (and get this, the full-sized washer/dryer are in an actual laundry room!)

Main Street is full of small college-town restaurants of varying types: the burrito place, the coffee house, the diner. Nothing here is chain - not a Starbucks nor Chipotle in sight and I love this (though secretly, I love Chipotle too.) There are two bookstores (at least) - one of the used variety, which I adore - and several quaint-looking boutiques I have yet to explore. The street is lined with trees and benches and at the end, we have Dartmouth itself. Main Street literally deadends into campus.

The buildings of Dartmouth are white and stone and the grass of the Dartmouth Green is so perfectly... green. The Green is lovely - like a super-lawn (UVA-style) with buildings on all sides, benches and walkways and impromptu volleyball courts. While no "Green" however green will ever replace the Academical Village in my heart, I have to say it's a surprisingly close second. All of Dartmouth is wireless and I can see myself there, on the green, typing away on nice days.

So here we are... and I'm sure you're wondering... what's the point, where's the point?

We've made this blog to document the adventure: life in New Hampshire. Dan's journey through b-school. My attempts to stay warm, find a job (as yet TBD,) and a few friends (as yet TBD.)

I've done my best to set the scene, provide the background if you will. This is how life in New Hampshire will LOOK (at least in summertime.) Because this is my life now.

Did I mention I'm not the best with change, meeting new people, saying goodbye? So this will be interesting.