The club handled me just fine, actually.

The girl behind us in line was 18, and dropped
 her  iPhone on the ground twice. Later, she
danced on an pedestal inside the club. 

While all of you were enjoying my wonderful sister's posts on books and other nerd accessories, I was busy clubbing and jet-setting to the Caribbean (read: I went to a club for the first time in my life and I took a four day "work retreat" to Puerto Rico). So: city danger central, as you can imagine.  My next post will cover PR, but right now: Da Club.

Night Club Take-away Points: 

• Lines are humiliating. It is humiliating to wait with herd of teenage cattle in the frigid night air for the privilege of paying double digits just to get through the front door.My friend made the mistake of asking why we weren't in the "cool line," referring to the gaggle of people opposite us that were getting in faster. The reply, swift and pert, came from the tall blonde nightclub staffer: there is no cool line. And I quote, "Cool people don't wait in lines." Oh.

Border Closing Ahead

Closing time, you don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

News hit this week that Borders bookstores filed for bankruptcy, meaning the eventual closing of many branches of the chain. Included in this exodus is the store next to my house and the store next to my office. No bucks, double whammies!

Now, I know that to everything there is a season. Maybe the physical bookstore is the 8-track of the 21st century. Fun while it lasted, destined to become obsolete. But the closing of Borders ends an era.

Long ago and far away, going to Borders was a Kramy/Peters family ritual. If you've read this blog at all or actually know us in person, you are aware that my fellow blogger and I are NERDZ. None of the following should come as a surprise.

In our youth, the parental units would take me and my brother to Borders, often post-boring adult errand, as a bribe to keep us in line. We thought this was pretty awesome (re: nerdz). All of those books...there just for us to rifle through! Glorious. My parents had to feel like it was free babysitting. Each member of the family would happily splinter off to the section that interested them the most. Were you into sharks this week? Science section. Had you just seen The Lion King? CD section. Were you Dad? Newspaper and pastry at the in-house cafe.

Let's be clear, as a kid at Borders, I wasn't ever browsing for Joyce or skimming Dostoevsky. Nerdery had some limits. Tastes varied according to age but usually I was looking for something that, at this distance, feels faintly embarrassing.

"I thought the old lady dumped it into the ocean
in the end? - Well baby, I went down and got it for you.
- Aww, you shouldn't have!"

Elementary school was spent in the Babysitters Club or Anne of Green Gables aisle. As a preteen, I was jonesing for the latest novel in the Sunfire Young Adult Romance series. A series focused on 16-year-old girls (!!!) in historical situations, being wooed by competing handsome suitors. One was usually rich but stodgy and the other was poor but respected the heroine's feisty [anachronistic] nature. Whom to choose?! OMG, lol, ttyl! My favorite of the series was the story of Nicole on the Titanic. I'm pretty sure the author has a viable lawsuit again James Cameron.

Whew, I digress. Borders. As I grew up, reading interests evolved (thank God), but the store was always there to support that. In adulthood, Borders's extensive magazine section provided design inspiration for work. Or offered a free place to sit and read a book that I wasn't committed enough to buy. Ermm...forget that last bit. Sorry, Borders!

Maybe I'll eventually get into the Nook/Kindle phase (birthday's in June, people!), but until then I'll probably shift to Barnes & Noble. Holding an e-reader just doesn't seem to stack up against holding a real book with that paper smell.

Conveniently I just got a notice from Borders.com that my local branch is liquidating their stock NOW. And so, for old time's sake, away I go.

Of Mice and Men: A Brief History of Landlords

Apartment hunt. Moving day. Two tests of city life that truly measure an urbanite's will to live. Like a masochist, I am currently in the middle of this process for the fourth time in six years.

As frustrating as searching for a new home and relocating your possessions can be, sometimes things only get more interesting after the boxes are unpacked. Chances are if you're young, you're renting and someone else owns the roof over your head. Someone who is probably a stranger and probably odd.

Soon I'll be entering a brave new world with a fourth landlord/lady. Before the baton is handed off, I'm taking a post to look back on the men in my life.

A case of expectations not meeting reality.

1. John #1: (Un)Sexy Beast. Post-college I moved into the attic apartment of a worn Victorian in Boston. The wiring was original to Edison's era and the roommates took turns running hair dryers, fans, or A/C units. Kidding! We could never run A/C. Back then, I thought it had vintage charm. Now, I know it was just old and crappy. Who owned this pile? John #1. My first dealings with him were by phone. He had a super dreamy voice. British, debonair...very Clive Owen. Then I met him.

A faulty radiator drew John #1 to our nest one evening. I opened the door to find...not Clive Owen. What appeared to be a homeless troll stood before me. The kind of person that, if seen across a street, would make a mom grab her child's hand. I remember my roommate half-hiding behind the kitchen door in confusion. Was this a home invasion? And then he asked, "Which room is it broken in, then?" That voice! But that body!? Blimey.

Over the course of two years, John #1 turned out to be absent maintenance-wise, but harmless. I rarely saw him after that first shocking night and my senses were fine with that.

Snow Day Nostalgia

Let's go, Swift!

It's an officially sanctioned snow day at the Peters household! I honestly don't remember the last time I got a nature-related hall pass from life, but probably not in this century. So, woooooohoo! And I've got to say that this one is way legit. I was blown to the ground twice on my walk home last night, despite the ballast of emergency bottles of Riesling. Mother Nature was getting very handsy and it was thrilling.

However, feeling the windows of my cocoon rattle and watching the snow howl by horizontally at 100mph, I'm doubting that this day off is going to be as rad as those of my youth...