Happy Hour

Today I learned that "happy hour" (literally the words "happy hour,") is illegal in the state of New Hampshire.

After tonight's "customer appreciation hour," I kind of understand why.

Snow Men Are Boring

Snow Dragons are way cooler...

I saw this snow dragon on my way to work this morning, guarding the entrance to a small church.

Not sure what St. George would say about that...

Tuck Goes to Montreal

Last weekend I went on a class trip. Ironically I’m not in the fifth grade, nor am I currently a student, but those facts aside… it was totally a class trip. Essentially last weekend the whole of Tuck relocated to Montreal. Why, you may ask? Why did we, already solidly in Northern territory, deliberately venture FURTHER north in JANUARY?

Actually Montreal was quite mild. Seriously. We’re talking low thirties, all weekend. It was glorious; I didn’t have to wear a hat!

And yes my perspective on “mild” has shifted slightly. Seriously, this morning, it was snowing as I walked to work and I was SWEATING. I think the fleece liners for my boots may have been overkill.

Anyway, Montreal. We were there ostensibly for a sporting event, a series of three games (one soccer, two hockey) with a Canadian Business School, Concordia (The Molson School of Business at Concordia, no less.) We were actually there to hang out in Canadian bars, drink, dance and make American-style idiots of ourselves. We did all of the above.

Dan and I drove up after work (for me) on Friday. We were stopped briefly at the border where Dan proceeded to forget our home state.

Officer: Where are you from?

Dan: Um… I know this… (long pause) Vermont. I mean New Hampshire.

Vermont?

Officer: What is your purpose in Canada?

Dan: Um. My school is going. I’m in business school. Tuck. Dartmouth. Tuck. Um.

Officer, to second officer: Did he say his whole business school is going to Canada? (incredulous stares.)

We’re lucky we weren’t arrested at the border. It was a totally fishy story.

Friday night’s “event” was a bar scene in old Montreal called Les Deux Pierrots. Dan and I arrived on the early side (having checked into our hotel late and eaten dinner on the road.) And by early I mean we were among the first there. This would’ve been ok, except that apparently my French (which has sadly deteriorated) was merely good enough that they refused to speak to me in English but not quite good enough that I actually understood them all that well.

Les Deux Pierrots had, ironically, two parts. One was a standard sports bar. The other was a small concert venue. Live performers played and sang, mostly in French and occasionally in imitation of Johnny Cash. You haven’t heard Johnny Cash until you’ve heard him played by a French-Canadian wearing a camo hat and putting on a southern drawl. It’s almost impossible to describe.

Anyway, there we were watching the performance of a lifetime (me straining to pick up the French commentary, which I gathered was mostly jokes directed at we Americans – not that I’m blaming him,) when in came the second years.

One thing I should mention about the Tuck second years. They don’t mix with the first years, as a rule. They have a separate curriculum, vacation schedule, etc, etc, and maybe that explains it. This particular group rolled in in force. They were old friends. They knew this bar. They spoke French. They were too cool for school, basically. I felt like we were in a bad high school movie and we were the freshmen (they were the “cool” seniors.) Ten minutes later one of them leans over and asks us if we’re with Tuck.

We were like “seriously?” Then they went back to ignoring us.

Eventually of course the bar filled in, we bonded and mingled and don’t get me wrong: some of the second years are VERY nice.

Saturday we decided to explore the city. Montreal is beautiful, actually. Grey-stoned buildings, a beautiful setting. Dan and I ignored all that. Because it turns out Montreal ALSO has a fantastic underground network of shopping malls.

Shopping aside, it’s pretty fascinating actually. The connected network of shopping malls was built around the existing structures, which means it twists and turns and narrows and expands unpredictably. The architecture varies, the shops are numerous… it was super fun, for a while. (Dan and I both tire of stale air after a while.) I bought a new shirt and we only ran into… four Tuckies? (and one on the way?)

Saturday evening we bussed over to the ice rink for the main event: two hockey games. Our B-team and our A-team. Tragically we lost both games. I know nothing about hockey but I’m not really sure how we could possibly have incurred four penalties in the final two minutes (when we were tied in overtime.) I don’t want to SAY the game was called in their favor, but…

Then again most of our A-team (and a good chunk of our B-team) is Canadian so… how much credit could we really claim even if we had won?

Hockey, aside, the game was a great place to meet and bond with Dan’s fellow students. So much so that at one point I look up to find Dan in deep and passionate discourse with a guy I had never seen before. Forty-five minutes later I get the story. His name is Alexis and he’s an exchange student at Tuck coming from LBS (London Business School.)

Ironically he’s from DC and – did I mention he went to Clemson? Their passionate conversation? Totally about the ACC.

After the game and one very heroic cab hailing by our friend Morgan (oh did I mention the bus left without us stranding us at the hockey rink somewhere outside Montreal?) we made our way to Winston Churchill’s – the bar of the night. Winston’s had three floors (two of them devoted to dancing.) We hadn’t had any dinner, and let me tell you, French onion soup goes surprisingly well with pounding you-can-feel-it-in-your-chest bass.

And then, many hours later we ventured back to our hotel, ending the evening with the brie and proschiutto panini I “had to have” from room service. I was sleep before it arrived.

One final note: our first morning we met a bunch of Tuck students in the hotel lobby on their way to brunch. Their destination? A popular Canadian restaurant chain: EGGSPECTATIONS.

For those of you from Centreville, I think you can imagine our reaction.

Sledtastic

Well clearly it's been a while since we've really updated. It turns out Dan does actual work in grad. school and ditto for me at my job. A real change for both of us. Kidding. (Sort of.)

Still, not to worry... I am now officially back, with all sorts of New Hampshire-related adventures. (I'm sure you were all worried.)

Anyway, onward and upward... Last weekend Dan and I were invited to a birthday party for a friend turning 28. As scary as it is we'll be attending a number of 28th birthday parties over the course of this year (including our own.) Ugh.

Of course, not many 28-year-olds host a sledding party for their big day. Definitely a novelty.

A few obstacles to me and sledding:

1. I haven’t been since I was ten. During that time I’ve become even LESS graceful (read: klutzy) and even MORE accident-prone.

2. No snow pants. When I was young and wanted to play in the snow I had all the appropriate garments: leggings, neck-warmer, snow pants, waterproof gloves, hat, scarf, socks, boots, coat (hood: up.) I looked like a human marshmallow, maybe, but at least I was warm. But, after something like nine years as a Virginia resident and only six months in New Hampshire I am sadly lacking in cold-weather gear. No snow pants. No waterproof gloves. Rain boots (with fleece liners, but still.)

Dan of course happened to have snow pants from a random ski trip three years ago. Waterproof gloves, too. Typical.

3. No sled. Clearly the biggest obstacle.

Still, we were determined to go because… sledding!!! So Dan loaned me some track pants (ok, I took them,) and I wore them over leggings and my super-fantastic SmartWool socks. (I only have one pair, but they're amazing.) Add to that all the UnderArmour I own and... close enough.

For the sled we tried Kmart, but shockingly they were sold out. (Most likely due to an impromptu run on sleds by the Tuck first year class.) So we found ours at Wall Mart, for $15.

Scene: "Excuse me sir (picture me, Dan - two responsible full-fledged adults with no visible children) do you sell sleds?"

Wall Mart Employee: "Um... in the toy section?"

So maybe our bright orange sled was meant for children half our size (and weight) but no matter. We stuck in the trunk and drove to the hill over by Ockham Pond. Now I grew up near a national park (Valley Forge) and by a school called Hillside (aptly named) - two prime sledding destinations in my childhood years. But this hill - the hill by Ockham Pond - was a good hill, both steep and long.

Saturday was one of those bright, winter days where the sun is almost dazzling on the snow. And there we were with families, young children, and maybe twenty Tuck students with a motley assortment of sleds, snow tubes, and trays.

The hill was difficult even to walk up, but we do. We got to the top and that was when it occurred to me that really I hadn't been sledding since age 10 and that really we were pretty high up. In fact, I wasn't so sure about sledding at all.

And that was when Dan decided to push me. Next thing I know I'm speeding down the hill on our orange Wall Mart sled, which no surprise promptly malfunctions and turns around so that I'm going backward...

The real surprise is that it was totally amazing. After a few rides we paused for hot chocolate and snacks in the parking lot (pretzels, cupcakes, etc, per a proper birthday party.) And, for the record, our sled made it more or less in once piece (other sleds did not fare so well...) and no one actually hit a tree (or broke anything.) BUT, in case you're thinking Dan got "away" with pushing me down the hill...

Not so. Having finished our snack, a friend loaned us a "better" sled which Dan was quite excited to try because "ours didn't go fast enough." Well this other sled went faster. Much faster. It looked fun, but I never got to try. After one run we had to take Dan home for ginger-ale because he had a "tummy ache." (Which is why you should never swim nor sled on a full stomach, apparently.)

I think I went to a birthday party that ended the same way when I was... 10, maybe.

2010

Happy New Years from New Hampshire!!!!!