When I was in grad school, I was a magazine slut. I would tear through everything I could get my hands on, from high-end glossies to lowly gossip rags. I inspected every page, memorizing the masthead, dreaming of the day I might find my name on the list. I thought nothing of spending $50 on bizarre pubs at one of those huge magazine stands in Harvard Square. Written entirely in Japanese? That’s not a problem – I’m looking at the design. Filled with images of men and women in artful, yet compromising positions? That’s OK. The weirder, the better.

My obsession eventually led me to a basement comic book store in Cambridge that had an excellent selection of obscure magazines pushed into a tight corner under a grand display of X-men figurines. It’s here where I discovered the innovative story-telling art of the graphic novel. I had read Ghost World in college, but thought that was just a comic book geek anomaly. Up until then, I had no idea there was entire genre.

It was in this basement comic book store that I discovered “Persepolis,” the autobiographical graphic novel that was recently transformed into the animated film of the same name.

I was drawn to the starkness of the black and white figures, the touching innocence of the main character, the sense of femininity that didn’t reek of unicorns and pink flowers. Most of all, I was moved by the ease in which Marjane Satrapi showed that, even when surrounded by a harsh political reality, at age 13 the mysteries of puberty trump everything.

I finally got the chance to see Persepolis at the Music Hall last week during its week-long run. Despite the film's political hook (it’s based in Iran) and an Academy Award to hang around its neck, there were only about 25 people in the audience. The turn-out may have been small, but the movie garnered deep guffaw-style laughs and a chorus of sniffles.

Persepolis tells the story of Marjane, a young girl born to an aristocratic Iranian family during the reign of the Shah. As adolescence hits Marjane, the Islamic Revolution hits Iran. Guided by a sage and saucy grandmother, independently minded parents and the lyrics of 80s-era American punk, Marjane is the kind of girl that doesn’t take crap from anyone. This charming trait soon lands her in trouble in a country that frowns on dissent.

She is sent abroad, takes up with a group of anarchists, gets her heart broken, lives on the streets and eventually finds herself back in Iran, pretending to live the life of a nice Muslim girl. But as we all know, opinionated women never stay quiet for long.

From the moment the film began, I was transported into a mythical and exotic land where everything revolved around the world of a precocious girl. Instead of being waifish and weak, or cruel and conniving, this little girl was a bull. And she was funny. Her treacherous navigation into adulthood was incredibly real and riddled with pain. But all of her struggles made Marjane’s eventual redemption that much more sweet.

The film also allows an insider glimpse into the mysterious culture and politics of Iran. In case you haven’t noticed, the Republicans are ready to bomb the shit out of that country as soon as they have a good enough excuse. Most Americans don’t know anything about Iran or the people that live there, myself included. Persepolis at least helped me understand that, like America, not everyone in Iran is pumped about their leadership.

Politics and puberty aside, Persepolis is ultimately about trying to fit in. Marjane struggles to belong in a restrictive society, but when she goes abroad, she discovers it's no fun living in a world where everyone thinks Muslims are cruel heathens. In the opening scene, Marjane puts on her head scarf in the airport bathroom, readying for her return to the Muslim world. She immediately garners dirty looks. In the next scene, Marjane rips the headscarf off and lights a cigarette. It’s clear that, whether heading to Iran or not, she never really want to wear it anyway.

Kaba Modern is going straight to the top.

Despite being the shortest month of the year, despite having a reputation for brutally cold and snowy weather, this February has been particularly hideous.

First it snows, then it rains, then it's cold as hell, then it snows -- a short pause this weekend for gorgeous weather -- and today back to snow again.

Then there's all the illness. Just when I got over my brutal cold last week, all of my friends were laid out with a similar ailment. This week, I hear the flu is going around. With that news, I grabbed a respiratory mask and headed for the couch.

Between the weather and the constant need to blow my nose, I've been watching a lot of television. Typically, I've struggled to keep myself entertained past the usual fare of Law and Order re-runs and cable news, but I've recently discovered a number of shows that have reinvigorated my love for television.

Breaking Bad
Sundays 10 p.m. on AMC

The premise: Walter White, a 50-year-old chemistry teacher finds out he has terminal lung cancer. As to not leave his growing family in financial straights after his demise, White cooks up the idea of selling meth with the help of a delinquent former student. The twist? His brother-in-law is a ball-busting DEA agent.

Talk about starting out with a bang! This series launches with a plot line dark and gruesome and twisted enough for a deep season three episode of the Sopranos. The way the complex main character Walter White snaps into sharp focus so quickly will surely make the most astute short story writer jealous. The surprise of the show is the comedic timing of White's son, Walt Jr., played by RJ Mitte. It takes a lot of guts to make the comedic relief of a show the physically challenged teen and if someone pitched it to me, I'd would have certainly said HELL no, but the writers make it work.

This show is not for the squeamish, but if you love dark humor, this is the show for you.

Anthony Bourdain, No Reservations
Mondays 10 p.m. Travel Channel

The premise: Chef, writer, world food connoisseur Anthony Bourdain travels to strange lands and eats weird foods so we don't have to.

There is something addictive about watching a chain-smoking, booze-swilling curmudgeon in exotic locales eating and drinking the most authentic local fare. Head cheese? The Berliners do it best. Wanna eat an egg with a half-formed chicken in it? Bourdain shows you where to go in Vietnam. Ever wonder what to do with those pesky pig knuckles? You'd be surprised how many countries have whipped up dishes featuring funky pig parts. Bourdain, who has a proclivity toward pork, has eaten pig products of all kinds across the globe.

The best part of the show isn't really the food, it's Bourdain's desire to get to the heart of the local culture through food. He is constantly pushing producers to stray from the tourist spots and is always picking the brains of regional chefs for secrets into local food traditions. The best part of traveling, for me, is the unique food I get to sample wherever I go. Finally, someone does a show about it.

Randy Jackson Presents America's Best Dance Crew
Thursdays at 10 pm on MTV

The premise: When I first heard about this show, I rolled my eyes. Oh geez, not another dance show. But then I saw the commercial (which was really eye-grabbing and cool) and thought, well if they take different styles of dance crews and challenge them to incorporate foreign styles into their routines, that could be be really cool. Well, that's exactly what it is, but so so so much better than I ever imagined.

You have BreakSk8, a crew of Midwestern boys who bust hip-hop moves while on roller skates. There's Status Quo from Boston who quickly became one of my favs because 1) they're so cute and 2) one of the dancers performed some of the sickest moves and flips I've ever seen, all with a sprained ankle.

My absolute favorite thus far are Kaba Modern, a group of cute-as-hell Asian kids from California. The 3 girls, 3 guys mix adds to the group's appeal, but I think what sealed it for me was the complexity of their dance routines. Sure the flips are tough, but coordinating all the jerks and swirls like they do is an amazing feat. You may be mocking me for picking this flash-in-the-pan television fare, but everyone I know who's seen this has fallen madly in love with the show. View at your own peril.

Beautiful downtown Albany, your world is my oyster

A few months ago, I dreamed of taking a really nice warm weather vacation. I wanted to escape the frozen tundra of New England, even if only for a few days, in hopes of getting through the winter with some semblance of sanity.

Then I got laid off.

The glamorous long weekend on South Beach quickly vanished and I began looking for another excuse to get out of town for a few days. After a talk with my friend, Sheila, who is going to art school in upstate New York, we hatched the plans for my Albany vacation.

For the next few days, I will see the sights of New York's capital city. It should be especially pleasant seeing there's a massive cold front moving across the north east. I guess that doesn't really matter, since I'll probably be spending most my time taking advantage of the 4 a.m. last call that makes New York such a lovely place to visit.

I've got my overnight bag packed, a pile of CDs, tons of snacks and a full tank of gas. Albany, here I come.

This could be you, and might just be me.

Over the past week, I've been in detox mode, trying to rid myself of all the cookies and mashed potatoes I ate over the holidays and all the coffee and booze I downed during the final days of the primary. Tired of the bars, tired of drinking overall really, I've been spending my evenings shopping (if you call hitting Target for undies and laundry detergent shopping), at the gym or on the couch.

Maybe it was the warm weather, or going to an early showing of Cloverfield that got me all ramped up, but I've definitely got the rowdy bug coursing through my veins. I know no matter how tough I talk, I'll probably find myself sipping a pop somewhere out on the town before the end of the weekend.

A quick flip through my rolodex of stuff to do is showing me the usual suspects -- pints at the Coat, martinis and champagne at the Red Door, pitchers at D Street -- none of them were really calling my name. I knew if I was going to have one of THOSE night, I was going to have to dig much deeper. And here's what I found:

Portsmouth Gaslight Beach Party at the Third Floor Club
Saturday, Jan. 12
$10 cover, $5 if you come in "beach attire"

"Leave the winter behind," the Gaslight flier touts, and "take a four hour tropical vacation." By saying tropical vacation, I don't think they're talking romantic getaway to the Bahamas. I'm thinking it's going to be more along the lines of a trip to Sandals with scantily clad women throwing caution to the wind after a couple frozen daiquiris. Don't be surprised if you see a few ladies spending the night grinding their backsides into various dudes' crotches and stumbling home with one of the barbacks after last call.

The Gaslight Beach Party offers tropical drink specials and dancing, and recommends coming in beach attire. I plan to show up in a grass skirt and coconut bra. I hear they have a few left over from the Tiki Bar days. Anyone with me?

Brewery Lane Tavern Heaven and Hell Party
Every Friday night in January
cover? who knows

I don't care who you are, you are going to get into trouble when you hit the Brewery Lane Tavern. I'm not sure what the specifics of this event entail, all I know if there will likely be lots of drinking, lots of cute girls in naughty outfits and some dancing. Oh, and you'll be waking up with a hangover.

Portsmouth Moose Lodge Karaoke
Friday, Jan. 18
8 p.m. to midnight
no cover
1163 Sagamore Road

I don't think there's anything enlightening or witty I can say about this. I don't know if I'm brave enough to head to a Moose Lodge without a mighty entourage, but if any of you are thinking of trying it out, you may want to check ahead by calling 436-9627.

The Ken Clark Organ Trio at the Dolphin Striker
Saturday, Jan. 19
9 p.m.-12:30 a.m.
no cover

This is the best kept secret in Portsmouth. Seeing a band at the Spring Hill Tavern under the Dolphin Striker is like watching your really talented musician friends play in some rich kid's basement. The music is usually a little wacky, but there's tons of expensive liquor at your disposal and the people serving up the drinks are fun and have a heavy hand. Sure, the over-50 crowd loves this joint, but it doesn't mean that a table of you and your friends couldn't turn this shit into a party. Trust me. It beats the hell out of the Jimmy Laponza Lounge.

Ladies, you've got to use your hips or you're going down!

Seeing as I've been watching a lot more TV these days than I normally do, I am wondering how I missed this. Dances From Tha Hood is a new instructional program showcasing the latest dances the kids are doing in the clubs. You've got the Two Step and the Toe Wop and the Spongebob Dance and the Rock It Out and the Dboy. You know, all the hits.

It's hosted by Lenaya Straker, a.k.a. Tweetie, who has an impressive dance resume, including Oprah's personal dance instructor. Please, watch the above clip and just picture Oprah trying to get all hyphy. Oh, and then add in Gail.

You can check out all the dances here. May I suggest trying the Pop, Lock and Drop It and the Lip Gloss? If you learn these just think of all the guys you'll pick up at the Gas Light!

Seeing as the last time I chimed in on Portsmouth nightlife the decks were still open, I thought I'd open the New Year reviewing all the changes in town I've neglected to mention:

The Sports Page changes it's name to "The Page"

Much like the new owner of Tequila Jack's changing the name to TJ's, the new owners of everyone's favorite sports bar to slag on made the executive decision to turn the page on the Sports Page. Don't worry ladies, it's the same sweet pick up joint for prematurely balding men, young professionals hanging on way too long to their frat boy days and those hunky middle-aged men who are "self-employed" and wear their Nextel on their belt. Yuuuuummmy!

Brazo opens

When I think about how this restaurant came about, I imagine the owner of the Green Monkey looking out her front window at the hideous sandwich joint that moved into the old 43 Degrees North location and thought, "Dear God, will someone just PAINT that building already! Must I do everything!?"

My take on Brazo is it's a great place to get a drink, but if you want to drop some dough on a nice dinner, you could probably do better elsewhere. Not that the food is bad, it's just not kick ass. And the menu has the same drawback as the Green Monkey. Too short and sorta boring.

As for the atmosphere, the drink selection and the scene at the bar, it's an A+. The bartenders are flirty without being dickish, the seats are comfortable and plentiful, and the people watching is FABULOUS. Great place to start the night with a stiff drink before moving onto the Press Room.

Rudy goes to Rudi's

You're the former mayor of New York City, you've just spent an hour freezing your ass off in a podunk New Hampshire town shaking hands with Red Sox fans and you're famished. Where do you go? Well, Rudi's of course! The presidential candidate made a stop in to the new restaurant after this year's Christmas parade. He also stopped by the Federal Cigar, which stayed open late to cater to Rudy's every need. If you didn't read about it in the New Hampshire Gazette, you truly missed a comic Portsmouth moment. Request a back issue here and check it out.

Federal Cigar stopped selling mainstream cigs and loosies.

WTF? Now smokers have to walk all the way across downtown or pay a gazillion dollars in a bar for a pack? What about those people who used to smoke and want a heater once in a blue moon. Must they now buy a pack?! Example #426 of why the gentrification of Portsmouth is bogus.

The New Hampshire Primary

Simultaneously the reason why I drink and the reason why I haven't gone out for a drink in days. While I covered the primary, I met most of the candidates and the entire Clinton family (including Chelsea), I rode on McCain's bus, had my photo taken with Gideon Yago, flirted with George Stephonopolis, was pushed by Secret Service, had lunch with Mike Huckabee and walked into the shot when Sway was dispatching from Durham. Pretty sweet resume, I think!

As far as Portsmouth goes, the end of the primary season brings the following benefits:

No more supporters cheering for their candidates for hours on end in Market Square

The mailbox will no longer be jammed with direct mailings

No more college kids from NYU knocking on your door asking to support Obama

You no longer have to watch those NYU kids texting and gabbing on their cells while on your way to and from the Coat

Best of all (for me, especially) drunk people will no longer engage you in a political debate on the Ron Paul Revolution

Look at this sweet car. It's at the Fair!

I have so many fond memories of the Rochester Fair. Like the time my sister got hurt on a ride and my mom yelled at the carnie, then the time I made out with some kid in the haunted house and all my friends made fun of me for it and I never spoke to him again. There was the time I puked on the Zipper while sitting next to a super cute boy, then later on the tea cups. There was the time my friend ditched me to go have sex with her boyfriend and I ended up walking to a friend's house and waking up his parents to give me a ride home. Then when I finally made it home, my mom grounded me for three weeks for staying out late. Oh, who can forget the time I went to the fair with Stroger the day she got fired from the Toast and I was fresh off a horrible break-up and we ate about 7,000 calories in greasy fair food.

*Sigh* Good times.

This is the last weekend of the Rochester Fair and I am going to do everything in my power to go. If I don't see every single crappy craft made by little Girl Scout hands, or the gorgeous black velvet art or the ridiculous Keeno prizes, I will DIE! Growing up in Rochester, the fall just isn't the same if you don't take in a Sam, Joe and Ed's sub, a little apple crisp from the Congregational Church booth, lose $10 buck on the ponies and nearly shit your pants on a rickety ride run by a toothless drunk. Oh, and get a photo next to the giant pumpkins. ALWAYS a must.

If you want to get the scoop on the dopest fair on the Seacoast (suck it Stratham!) click here. It's the fair. I will be there.

It was sort of like this, but the girls were a little hotter.

Finishing up my 14th day of work in a row, I am pleased to announced I've started my four day vacation. Four days? you say. That's not a vacation. A vacation is, like, a whole week or something, right? Well, that may be true, but this was all I could eke out so I'm taking it.

In an attempt to figure out what I was going to do between trips to the Coat, I cracked open Ye Olde Spotlight to see what hot events the city was going to offer me.

Dover Greek Festival? Been there. Done that.

Gilbert and Sullivan Review? I am NOT the very model of a modern major general, thank you.

Tesla at the Hampton Beach Casino? Tempting, for the people watching of course, but the thought of hearing this has-been 90s hairband rasp out "Signs" one more time makes me want to pour acid in my ears.

Susan Tedeschi at the Hampton Beach Casino? Who? Do they play her stuff at Breaking New Grounds?

"San Francisco's rock/jam kings" Tea Leaf Green at the Stone Church? Heeeeeeeeeeeel NO!

God, I don't even have the energy to write yet another tirade about how much Portsmouth has to offer people with a litter of kids and the elderly. Yes, yes, I know. What do I expect. This isn't New York or Boston or even Portland for that matter. I guess I just get annoyed at how OLD this town seems to be getting. All you Gen Xers out there know what I'm talking about. It seems the only time I see young people out doing something besides drinking is when Rocky Horror is playing at the Rep.

Speaking of Rocky at the Rep...

Has anyone noticed the packs of young women running around Portsmouth in their underwear lately? What the hell is this? Not that I don't mind. Folks wearing inappropriate clothing in public is always good for a laugh. It just seems a little odd that a dozen girls would all of sudden be like, "You know, hanging out at this bar is really fun, but you know what would be even better? Taking all of our clothes off and running through the streets of Portsmouth screaming in our skivvies. Wouldn't that just be THE BEST?!?!?!?"

The first two times I saw this was heading from the decks to the Coat. I was coming up that little hill by the Dolphin Striker and crossing toward the Gaslight, when all of a sudden, a pack of screaming 20-something women came tearing up Market Street in their bras and panties. Judging from the kind of underwear they had on (looked normal, not all slutty like they knew someone was going to see it later) it appeared to be a spontaneous act. Just as soon as they appeared, they were up the hill and gone.

About a week later, I AGAIN saw a pack of women, this one much smaller, taking the same route in their drawers up Market Street. Is this a thing I don't know about? Clearly, I am out of loop on this one.

The third undies sighting was last Saturday on Bow Street. I was out in front of the Stockpot chatting with some girls I ran in to when I noticed about a dozen young women decked in corsets, garters, thigh-highs, skimpy panties, boy shorts with bows, you name it. I haven't seen that many ass cheeks hanging out since the locker room at Spaulding High.

The girls weren't running and they weren't screaming. Just sort of being loud and giggly. They came up Bow Street, lead by two of the biggest 40-something dirt bags I've ever seen. The men led the ladies right past us and to their Harley's parked along the street.

"Oh, yes! Get on the bikes!" I yelled, realizing immediately after that everyone of them could hear me. Ooops. So the girls did a few poses by the bikes and after about 10 minutes, the men led the lovely ladies back down Bow Street and toward the Gaslight.

My friends and I then all turned to each other and said, "What the fuck was that?"

Damned if I know.

If I told you you were beautiful, would you date me on the regular?

About once a week, I drag my sorry ass over to the PAC and attend this weight lifting class they offer. Not one for any athletic-type classes besides yoga, I find myself liking this one because a) It proves to me I am still stronger than a 65-year-old woman and b) once in a while a good song will come on the pre-arranged soundtrack they play.

Most of the time the music sounds like something a DJ would play in an Icelandic disco, but the other day, as we were getting to the section of the class where we have to do push-ups and I find myself feeling somewhat humiliated because I can barely squeeze out one before I have to drop to my knees like the girl that I am, Justin Timberlake's, "My Love" started playing.

I gasped with glee and, realizing that everyone heard me because they all turned to stare, I mustered all the power of my being to stop myself from screaming out, "Oh shit! This is my JAAAAAAAM!"

Ladies, I cranked out so many man-style push-ups the U.S. Army would be asking for my number if they saw me. All while mouthing as subtly as I could:

"I can see us holdin' hands
Walking on the beach, our toes in the sand
I could see us in the country side
Sittin' on the grass layin' side by side
You can be my baby/ Let me look at my lady/Girl you amaze me/
Ain't gotta do nothin' crazy
See all I want you to do is be my love"

There was a time in my life when I would have been embarrassed to admit I like Justin Timberlake. Hell, there was a time in my life when I would have been embarrassed being SEEN with anyone who liked Justin Timberlake. But as the memory of four years of music school fades, I have become far less snobbish about what I enjoy. I can admit I like Justin. I feel no shame for spending half my ride to Manchester surfing the pop stations, hoping one of his songs gets played. And I can proudly admit that I spent good money on tickets to his concert in Manchester earlier this year and have firmly placed it on the list of one of the best shows I've seen of all time.

Oh, you didn't catch Justin's Future Sex/Love Show the last time around? ">Well here's your chance. He is playing at the TD Banknorth Garden this Friday and I believe tickets are still available.

I will spare you from gushing about my experience at the show, but let me just give these three little details:

1) if you thought Justin was hot on TV, wait 'til you see him in person

2) The show's intermission act was Timbaland

3) At the part where Justin feigns banging one of his dancers from behind as she bends to touch the floor, my friend Ally squealed like a 12-year-old girl and grabbed my arm so hard it hurt for days.

Alas, I think I've spent enough money on my teen habit so I will not be attending the show again, but you bet your ass when HBO broadcasts it in September, I'm DVRing that shit.

How could you even consider skipping an event that offers this?

OK. So maybe I've been writing about going out drinking a little too much. Maybe I should take advantage of all the music and art and culture that comes to town in the summer months. Maybe I should try to expand my horizons, live a little and perhaps even learn something.

To be honest, it's been really hard for me to get excited about anything even remotely related to the arts in Portsmouth this spring. I don't know about you, but I find it really easy to get burned out on the same old mix of music, theater and art that rotates through the venues in this area. But in recent weeks, a few items have piqued my interest so I guess it's time to put down the shot glass, give my liver a rest and take in a little local culture.

Severance
Portsmouth Music Hall
Thursday, July 19
Saturday, July 21
7 p.m.

I have wanted to see this movie ever since I read Trevor's review of it in The Wire. It sounds totally up my alley -- dark humor, smart, scary, BRITISH! Here's the music hall's synopsis:

"Comedy and horror ensue when a weapons company on a team-building weekend in Eastern Europe are attacked by killers intent on revenge for - what else? - Western influence on their culture. 2006 Telluride Film Festival. Director Christopher Smith."

Sounds freakin' awesome, right?

Greek Festival at Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church
July 20-22
check the Portsmouth Herald piece for times, cost, etc.

Who doesn't love spanakopita, baklava, grilled lamb and of course Ouzo? If you've never been, the local Greek festival is a deliciously good time with lots of music and dancing and food. Make sure you bring a bunch of friends if you're not into dancing, because you'll need someone to talk to while you're chowing on all the tasty homemade food. If you're a local and you haven't been to the Greek festival, than you haven't really lived in Portsmouth.

Dover Twilight Music Series
Thursday, July 19 and every other Thursday until August 30
7-9 p.m., rain or shine
upper courtyard off Main Street

My friend Dustin Ruoff told me about his little music series he was putting together this summer and I thought, this is absolutely perfect for Dover. In years past, downtown music series would consist of acts like the Shaw Brothers and local cover bands, but I knew Dustin would pull in some solid acts. Performers are of the indie-rock ilk. A listing may be found here.

Press Room's Beat Nite
Thursday, July 19
7-9 p.m.

All right, I'll fess up. I hardly ever go to Beat Nite, the jazz-infused poetry reading on the third of every month, but I always MEAN to go. I just end up running late at work or forget which Thursday in the month we're on or can't find anyone to go with. Typically when I ask people to join me at the "Depressed Room," for the event, the conversations usually goes something like this:

-- Want to go listen to some poetry and jazz with me?

No way. It's pint night.

-- Yeah, but it's actually a lot more fun than it sounds, really. And we only have to stay an hour and then we can hit pint night.

If I don't get my whole four hours of half-priced pints in, then my entire week is ruined. Sorry.

And so it goes. Let me just say for the record that yes, Beat Nite is actually fun even if it sounds dorky. Just think, you are getting in a little local color and having drinks to boot. I know I said I was going dry on this one, but really, who can beat that.

Always a crowd pleaser.

I've said it once and I'll say it again. There is nothing quite like warm night on the decks. Last Saturday, I spent about three hours out there, cautiously sipping my Stock Pot Lemonade, chatting with Nova and Dan and Jill and Jess and Probert. It was like a revolving door of friends. When one bowed out, another one would show up. It was catching up on new news, rehashing old times, giving shit and making plans. The night was breezy, the drinks cool and delicious and the company unbeatable.

As I headed home on my bike, I ran into a friend who directed me to a party on the upper floors of a Market Square building. Feeling tired, but a little adventurous, I went in. I was not sorry.

Maybe it's because I'm older or maybe because Portsmouth's becoming a little more laid back everyday, but when I first moved to this town, there were killer parties almost every weekend. There were all those great bashes on Lawrence Street with the Breaking New Grounds kids and then it became the Union Street Friendly Toast gang. For a while the Brewster Street posse had some great shows/parties, but I haven't been invited over there in a long time. Then there was that one New Year's Eve extravaganza on McDonough Street where everybody who's anybody showed up and people were dancing and spraying champagne all over the place. Those were the days.

This winter, the party supply was especially dry. No one I knew even threw a Christmas cocktail party, you know the kind where everyone gets really dressed up and drinks manhattans and martinis and the night ends when someone falls drunkenly down the stairs. Those used to be a holiday season staple!

[footnote: I did go to a really, really good New Year's party this year, but one event cannot last a girl an entire year!]

Thankfully, my faith in Portsmouth's young adults was renewed when I showed up at the casual soiree in a Market Square apartment. I walked in and was offered a choice of beverage and ultimately handed a coffee cup of Jagermeister. Beck's Midnight Vultures was on the stereo and about 20 people milled about. I had stuff to do in the morning, so after about an hour, I tried to make a graceful exit. However, it was one of those parties where each time you try to leave, someone new and cool shows up and you end up having another beer with them. This happened to me about six times.

The place was really sweet with great views of the square. People were giving hugs and high-fives to new people who came in the door. At one point a brief dance party broke out when someone put on MJ's Thriller. Good times by all.

When I left, finally, the party was still in full effect. It could have turned into a giant shit show for all I know, but if I were to give this one a review, I say thumbs up, way up.

Oh, sweet freedom.

Is there really anything better or more exhausting than a summer in Portsmouth, New Hampshire? Each year, I make all these grand plans to go to the beach every weekend, grow an enormous garden bursting with veggies and spend my nights sipping cocktails with all my seasonal friends. And every year Labor Day rolls around and I think, shit, I didn't do half the stuff I wanted to do. If only I were independently wealthy.

This summer, I have no illusions. I know I'm not going to do all the things I want, but I still can't help myself from making a list. This year, I tried to keep it modest:

1. See a film at the Portsmouth Music Hall

Every year, I grab the calendar of movies, post it on the fridge, circle five or six I HAVE to see and then around Aug. 1 realize I missed everything good and the only movie left to see is Mission Impossible III. This year, I'm not entirely thrilled with the classic foreign film theme (bring back the summer of Caddyshack and Animal House please!), but I am very excited about the late summer showing of Severence. This British film chronicles a group of weapons company employees on a team-building retreat. It has all the classic elements of a modern day horror flick. It's set in the middle of nowhere Eastern Europe, it plays on the arrogant American/British view that everyone hates us because we rule the world, and most scary of all, it takes place during a corporate team-building retreat. (Have you every been on one of those thing? I shudder to think.)

2. See a tall ship

When I worked at the Herald, I was given the prime assignment of covering the arrival of America's Tall Ship, the U.S. Coast Guard's training ship, the Eagle. I had to be down at the port at 5:45 a.m., ride out for about an hour in a stuffy Coast Guard vessel, jump onto a Coast Guard gunner -- with no sides -- in the middle of the ocean, ride the high seas toward the tall ship while holding onto dear life, and then jump onto a rickety staircase and climb aboard. Once on board the Eagle, I shook the sea sickness but was soon doused by a heavy rain storm. By the time I got off the ship and had to write my story at 10 a.m., I looked like a drowned rat with a soggy notebook. Not fun.

This year, I'd like to check out the ships while docked on a nice sunny day. It's easier to pretend I'm sea worthy when the boat's not moving. The Prince William, from Portsmouth, England, will sail into Portsmouth Harbor on July 6, joined by the Pride of Baltimore and the Spirit of Bermuda. They stay until July 8.

3. Eat some seafood outside, preferably on a checkered table cloth

Fried clams, onion rings, steamers, fried haddock, lobster -- they all make the list. Of course, accompanied by an ice cold beer or fine white wine.

4. Work on smoothing out the farmers tan

OK, so I'm not one of those girls who's like, Oh, I have to get a killer tan this summer, but I am willing to (embarrassingly) admit that I really want to get rid of my farmers tan this summer. It started the years I worked on the decks and I haven't been able to shake it since. Every summer I find my arms get darker and my chest stays white. I guess I have to start wearing more low cut shirts.

Why the need to cultivate a smooth bronzed tone? June 21, 2007 not only marked the first day of summer, but also the 365 day mark until my wedding. Call me cheap, but there is no way in hell I'm going to spend $80 giving myself skin cancer in a tanning booth the weeks before the big day when I can just slowly work on it naturally this summer. Plus, it gives me an excuse to get outside.

5. See some fireworks

Nothing's more romantic in the entire world. Gets me every freakin' time. *sigh*

6. Take a late night skinny dippin' trip

When I was 19, I lived a simple life. I would work during the day at Market Basket, go home, eat some dinner and take a nap, call my friends, meet up, get wasted and then hit the Dunkin' Donuts for some munchies. Before calling it a night, we would head to someone's pool and go skinny dipping. I don't think I've done it since that summer, but I would again in a heart beat.

Watch out ladies. Lorenzo's coming to town.

I don't know anyone under the age of 45 that has ever stepped foot inside the historic Ogunquit Playhouse, but I'm thinking maybe I should try to make a trip out there this summer. Celebrating its 75th anniversary, the playhouse will be hosting some amazing guest actors. Entitled the 2007 Diamond Jubilee season, this outstanding summer line up includes Menopause the Musical, The King and I, and Hairspray. But first, I must mention the play that first caught my eye:

The Full Monty, feat. Sally Struthers and Hunter Foster (some broadway guy)
Main Stage Show Times & Ticket Prices:
Tuesday-Friday Evenings 8:00 PM - $43
Saturday Evening 8:30 PM - $48
Wednesday & Thursday Matinees 2:30 PM - $39
Saturday & Sunday Matinees: 3:30 PM - $41

Yes, that's right. Sally Struthers, little Gloria, will be in a play, in Ogunquit, Maine, called The Full Monty. I couldn't believe it either.

Other highlights include:

Lorenzo Lamas of the Bold and the Beautiful fame, will play the starring role in The King and I. Everybody's favorite Golden Girl, Rue McClanahan, will be appearing in Crazy for You and Eddie Mekka will be starring in Hairspray. Who's Eddie Mekka, you ask. None other than Carmine Ragusa of the wacky 70s sitcom Lavern and Shirley.

It's coooooommiiiiing...

You know what's great about busting your hump for eight days straight? Having it be over. (If I hear one more Republican talk about why English needs to be the national language, I might just gouge my eye out with my pen.)

Since Memorial Day, the overwhelming amount of work I've had to tackle has severely cut into my socializing time. But now, with a three day weekend ahead of me, I can sit back, enjoy the lovely weather and get caught up on all I missed.

So wasn't I taken aback as I poured through my back issues of the Herald to see that Market Square Day is this Saturday. Now, I know. Everyone HATES Market Square Day. It's just a bunch of white trash yahoos pouring over junk being sold by vendors that don't even do business in this city. Yes, that all may be true, but for some reason, I can't help but loving the ridiculous day. I don't know if its my Rochester heritage (coming from a city with one of the most glorious and trashy fairs in the state) or if I just can't resist checking out a grand shit show, but no matter how hard I try, I just can't stay away. I mean, what's not to love? Fried food, crappy booths, amazing people watching, the road race, the inevitable batch of beers one ends up drinking by the end of the day.

This being New Hampshire, though, it again looks like the weather will be a little chilly and rainy. MSD probably won't be as fun as it could be, which is fine. I have plans to go to Boston that night anyway and I think it would nearly kill me if I knew the entire city was sitting on some roof deck, enjoying a balmy spring night, drinking PBRs and watching the fireworks without me.

I seriously cannot get over how dickish these guys look here. How do you think this photo went down? "Hey guys, you know what would be totally fucking awesome? If we took a photo of us in suits. I'll go get my bow tie. Now THAT'S badass!"

In other news, did anyone see the front page of the Herald article about the Sports Page? At this point in the game, I feel like making fun of the Sports Page is like kicking a man while he's down, but I still can't deny that feeling of schadenfreude I get whenever I imagine those pompous-looking owners having to deal with the drama they've created for themselves. I think at some point this summer, we'll see the backwards hat wearing silhouette pull in his pointing fingers and turn up the middle ones towards all the bone-headed businessmen who put him up there. Eat. Drink. Score...Sue?

I know! Check out the girl on the far left. She's my favorite.

So of course I clicked on it and was taken to the miraculously trashy Brewery Lane Tavern Web site. I could spend hours here, truly. Judging from the site, this is where the funnest girls in town hang out. They're hot, they wear skimpy clothes, they all seem to be Red Sox fans and they looooooooove to drink.

Now I've heard my guy friends talk about the "Booby Lane Tavern" a few times, but I didn't realize how incredibly over the top this place is. The only time I've ever been there was when the Herald sent me to interview dudes about the big sports game. Here's how that usually went:

BL (to table of 30-something guys in sports gear and white hats): Umm, hey guys, can I talk to you about the game?

Any guy: Hey, what's your name? Do you want a drink? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you think my friend here is cute? He's single. What did you say your name was again? Are you going to quote me on this?

With this experience under my belt, I thought the BLT was a place where tons of dudes go to check out the hot waitresses and bartenders, you know, like the Sports Page. But lordy was I wrong. I mean, look at these girls! They are freakin' hot! Plus there's all this other fun stuff going on, like karaoke and dance parties and a bikini contest?! (By the way, what girl is brave enough to strut around a bar wearing what is essentially nothing more than your bra and panties in front of tons of dudes? I would die of an anxiety attack from worrying about whether or not I had razor burn alone.) The more and more I began to look at what the B LT had to offer, the more I was like, "Why the hell haven't I been hanging out here all my life?"

So please, I invite you to take a spin on the BLT's Myspace page, go on the Virtual Tour, print out your own events calendar and then, take a look at the Holy Grail of Web Pages, the customer photos. Here are a few of my favorites:

Bet the wife-to-be loves that this photo is up on the Internet.

Clean' up for the health inspector!

Cash Rules Everything Around Me (hey, is that Jason Varitek in the background?)