Fru Gal

Liberté, Egalité, Frugalité

2006-07-17T18:25:00.000-07:00

On Friday, the SG and I headed over to the French Library to celebrate Bastille Day. Each year, the French Library hosts the hottest dance party in Boston, figuratively and literally. Held on Marlborough street in the Back Bay, the party takes place on the asphalt between Clarendon and Berkley streets. The fenced off area is complete with a stage for live music, street fair food, and of course, port-o-potties.

But when I say "street fair food" you can put away those images of fried dough and corn dogs. Instead, the best of Boston's French restaurants were serving delicious food at Fru Gal prices. For $4 you could sample Sandrine's blueberry creme brulee. For $5, Brasserie Jo offered you pate de foie gras with truffle oil. It was a frugal francophiles fan-tasty.

The music rocked. Instead of the stereotypical French soundtrack of Edith Piaf and Amelie accordion solos, this celebration featured the hottest acts coming out of Francophone Africa.

The show was opened by the hip hop outfit DAARA J from Senegal. They got the audience hopping, quite literally, by refusing to play until Boston "jumped like a lion. Jump! Jump!" They also exposed the true nature of the Bastille party-goers, who stared at them expectanctly during their French stage pater. When the band announced between songs that "Le Rap est née en Afrique!" they got no reaction until they switched to English. "Rap was born in Africa," they repeated, and then the crowd broke out into cheers.

Next DABY TOURÉ of Mauritania laid down some Dave Matthews style tunes and the Malian pop duo AMADOU & MARIAM closed out the evening. Unfortunately, the SG and I couldn't last for the end of their act. We were dancing with our arms waving over our heads in an attempt to pull the cool air, which felt like a ten degree difference, down into the crush of bodies. It was just too damn hot and we had to call it quits.

This raucous good time was $25 - which is cheap for an evening with three stellar world music groups. But that price didn't include extras, like vin rouge or crepes avec mousse chocolat, all of which had to be paid for out of pocket. Which means, we didn't get to sample all that fine French food.

As we were leaving, we realized that there was a separate Bastille Day happening just outside the fenced area in the outdoor ampitheater of Boston's First Church (Unitarian/Universalist). It was an accoustically perfect place to enjoy the concert, and there was plenty of space for the few souls who decided to dance. A few even persuaded event staff to sell them pate de foie gras over the fence. So who knows, maybe next year you'll find this CB with the truly frugal, enjoying the sounds of l'Afrique for free.

Boston Harbor Hotel Hates The Frugal and the Fru Gal

2006-07-14T09:59:00.000-07:00

I attended last friday's Movies by Moonlight, a free, free, free, presentation of American film classics at the Boston Harbor Hotel. I've been reading about this event for years, and this past Friday the selection was Roman Holiday, with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn. It's a classic film, and I believed the PR for the event when it described it as "a perfect summer date." The PR advised you to "bring a picnic" and "enjoy the ocean breezes." The movie was to be projected onto a screen floating on a barge anchored just off the pier.

What the PR does not describe is that the staff of the Boston Harbor Hotel hates this event, and has nothing but contempt for the frugal who attend it.

I called the hotel earlier in the day to speak with the concierge, to get the inside scoop on what time "sunset" really means, whether I should bring a chair, and what time I should arrive to ensure quality reviewing. I was told 8ish (earlier times for films later in the season) and that it was unnecessary to bring a chair as the hotel provided seating.

That last statement - that the hotel provides seating - turns out to be a Clintonian truth. The hotel provides rounds of 1/2 thick foam emblazoned with the Boston Harbor Hotel logo. That's it. This was just the first piece of misinformation delivered by the BHH concierge.

The hotel's plan is that you place this illusion of comfort onto one of the twenty (20!) spaces available on the stone steps leading to the pier. There isn't room for more than 20 adults on the granite stairs, which are so shallow, that each person has to take up three steps - one for the half of their butt cheeks that fit on the foam, one for their feet, and one for the backs of the knees. To ask anyone to occupy only two steps, as I did in a brash attempt to make the evening work, is to ask them to watch the movie with their nose resting on their knees.

There were a hundred adults jockeying for space on the stairs when I arrived, an hour early, as suggested by the concierge. The crowd continued to swell for the next hour. I would be hard pressed to say who was in a worse mood, the people crowded onto the stairs, or the staff designated to keep them from straying into the hotel's money maker, tables for two set up between the free seats and the edge of the pier. These tables were reserved for dinner only - as I learned when my friends and I decided to splurge on some over priced and under powered beverages in the cause of saving the nerve endings in our bottoms. We were rejected from the tables. When asked where we could sit, our questions were met with "I don't know, but you can't stand here," from the hotel staff. At the best, the hotel staff was merely rude, at their worst, they behaved like cowboys sending cattle into a slaughter house.

My attention was caught by the fact that chairs, clearly drawn from some banquet room in the hotel, had been set up in four rows on the screen's barge. I asked the hotel staff if those chairs were available to the public. "I don't know, why don't you just put your name down for a table?" was the unhelpful and petulant reply. In other words, "why don't you spend some money, you cheap bastards?" One of my friends conjectured that these seats were reserved for paying guests of the hotel. Too late, we learned that they were open to the public. By that time, the seats on the barge were filled with other frugal Bostonians, bobbing slightly with the drift of the water.

That's when the folks with the chairs began arriving. Here were the true cheap bastard cognoscenti, with their folding chairs and picnic baskets. They lined up along the right of the stone steps, with clear, albeit off center, views of the screen.

My friends and I had had enough. They were taking my word for it that Roman Holiday was a can't miss film, a classic romance that would cause them to run away to Rome and fall in love with a dissolute American journalist. But it just wasn't in our bottoms to last. Before the credits began, we abandoned our hard won steps and hit the road.

I'm guessing that the Boston Harbor Hotel receives some kind of tax break from the city of Boston for hosting free events. And they certainly spent enough money advertising the event. But just because the frugal movie lovers were their guests, they clearly have told their staff that they don't have to be kind to every guest, just the ones who pay.

Rockets Red Glare

2006-07-05T12:20:00.000-07:00

What is the best of the Boston cheap bastard activities? Definitely the Boston Symphony Orchestra's Fourth of July extravaganza, with fireworks choreographed to the music of the 1812 Overture.

If you want a seat for this free event, you need to show up at dawn, and be prepared to guard your territory all day. On a day like yesterday - with two violent thundershowers in the afternoon - the prospect of this CB camping out for the BSO was non-existent. After all, sometimes being a cheap bastard isn't about money, it's about that other precious commodity - time. Is it really a free concert if you have to sacrifice twelve hours of your summer to it?

That being said, the SG and I both love fireworks and Boston's are world-renowned, thanks to annual prime time broadcasts. So, how to enjoy the event without sacrificing time or money?

The cheap (and dirty) method is to take the MBTA Redline inbound to the Charles/MGH station. Perched above the Charles River, the subway platform offers an unobstructed view. But time it carefully, the hundreds of Boston cops on patrol on July 4th won't allow two hour loitering on the platform in anticipation of the fireworks, although they will let you stay if you arrive just in the nick of time.

Looking for something more romantic than the T, the SG and I rented a Mini-Cooper convertible from Zipcar from 9:30 to 11:30. Zipcar is a members only car sharing service that allows you to rent cars by the hour. They have cars scattered all over the greater Boston area, from BMW's to Hondas. A Mini-Cooper convertible is a premium car for this service, so we paid a premium price of $11.75 an hour (which includes gas and insurance).

We picked up our Mini at the Charles Hotel in Harvard Square, a red hooded cutie named Myles. With the push of a button, the roof slid down. I tied a patriotic scarf over my hair, climbed behind the wheel, and we set off in search of a prime viewing location.

We cruised along Memorial Drive, listening to the BSO on AM radio. We crossed the BU Bridge, which on July 4th is a hairy experience. Staring at 9:30 p.m. cars start to park on the four lane bridge, which has no breakdown lane. By ten p.m., cars are double parked.

Additional danger comes from the fireworks fans who decide the best place to sit is on the bridge's narrow sidewalk with their legs in the road, or to lie on the bridge's cross beams. And where was DCS when some parents decided to switch sides of the bridge by nosing their baby carriage into oncoming traffic? And where was the suicide intervention for the scads of bikers in black, with no helmets or headlights, wearing headphones?

SG and I pulled into a BU parking lot just across the BU bridge facing the tower of the BU Law School. Never having tried this cheap bastard trick before, we weren't sure if we'd be able to see anything once the fireworks started. The safe rule of thumb in judging the suitability of a watch site is whether you can see the Hood blimp, itself poised to film the fireworks. If you can see the blimp, conventional wisdom says you'll be able to see the fireworks. (Which is nonsense, if you think about it - if you can see me, it doesn't follow that you can see what I see.)

SG and I parked, turned off the engine and left the radio on. In what must pass for diversity for the BSO, they launched into "Dixie" - even the SG was confused by the choice. The blimp glowed straight ahead, a white beacon for the longing fireworks fan.

And then the fireworks began. They were elegant waterfalls of light. They were scatter shots of gold pebbles casting ripples on the surface of the sky. They were phantasms of red and blue. It was spectacular. It was partially obstructed.

If the fireworks were high in the air (about 2/3 of them) we saw them perfectly, framed between the BU towers and the trees along the Charles. If they were low, as many of the exploding smiley face style fireworks are, we saw only a red or green glow fading upward. Still, to sit in the lap of rented luxury, with the radio on and the SG's hand in mine, it was pretty close to heaven.

Or as close as a CB can get for $23.50.

Skating Alfresco

2006-01-14T07:47:00.000-08:00

Last January, the New York Times Travel Section ran an article on the truly fabulous places you can skate outside: on the premiere etage of the Eiffel Tower, 190 feet above Paris; in the torchlight courtyard of Somerset House in the heart of London; in front of Vienna's Imperial Opera House; and the couryard of the Charles Hotel in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

If you find yourself mentally tipping over as your eyes skate down the list of alluring European splendor and terminates at the Charles Hotel, you're not alone. This teensy rink (just 54 square feet), with it's views of (as you skate counterclockwise), Eye Q Optical, Charlie's Burger Joint, JFK St., the parking garage and the facade of the Charles Hotel, is never going to warm your heart the way spinning towards the spires of MontMarte would.

But the rink does have it's virtues, which I've been exploring for the last week. To begin with, on weekday's it's almost always vacant before three p.m. So if you're a novice skater like myself, unable to turn properly, or stop at all, having no one on the rink means no one to plow into while you scream "I can't steer" or "I can't stop" or merely "Ahhhh!" I'm especially afraid of small children on the ice, anyone under hip height appears to me like a bug ready to be squashed.

At $5 for unlimited ice time, and another $5 for ice skate rentals, the rink is not cheap. Nor are it's selection of adult drinks, Irish coffee and Hot (rum) Toddy's at $6 a mug. But it has one essential virtue, the Charles Hotel is on the same block as my office, which means I've been able to dart out for a half hour rotation in the middle of the day. As the sun bounces back at me from the ice, the cheap bastard in me definitely finds it cheaper than therapy and anti-depressants for fighting off seasonal depression. (I bring my skates, saving $5 a pop).

What the Charles Hotel wishes it were, is the Frog Pond on the Boston Common. Standing in the shadow of the gold dome of the Massachusetts State House, the Frog Pond offers 16,000-square-feet of ice. Where as the Charles Hotel offers convenience, the Frog Pond offers comfort; it's kiosk contains a warming room, restrooms and lockers for your street shoes. Its also cheaper than the Charles Hotel - Ice time for adults is $3, and children 13 and under skate free. Skate rentals range from $5-$7, depending on size. But forget about sipping an Irish Coffee. The rink and the kiosk are run by the City of Boston - no booze allowed.

The Frog Pond can get pretty crowded with care free kids on weekends and school holidays. But at night, its usually couples that dominate the ice. Skating at the Frog Pond is the most popular winter date in Boston, and the location is romantic.

The SG and I have checked out both rinks. Like me, SG likes the Charles for it's convenience, and that on a Sunday at 7 p.m., you're assured that your only companions on the ice will be adults sipping adult beverages. But for romance, SG likes the Frog Pond. That's where he picked up one of a Northern Gentleman's romantic gestures, kneeling at the foot of his beloved and lacing up her skates. And if there's anything this CB loves, its cheap bastard romance.

And that'll do just fine, until we can make it here: http://www.tour-eiffel.fr/teiffel/uk/

Ooooh la la!

Drink Your Way to Dallas - Wendy's, Coca-Cola and Air Tran

2005-12-30T11:24:00.000-08:00

Between November 1 and December 31, 2005, Air Tran and Wendy’s have been running a joint promotion. In exchange for 32 proofs of purchase, found on the side of Wendy's medium and large cups of Coca-Cola, Air Tran will give you a one-way ticket to anywhere their airline flies. In addition to flying to Akron and Atlanta, Air Tran also serves the Bahamas, so you can guess how popular this cross-promotion has been.

At about $1.29 for a medium Coke, 64 proofs of purchase will set you back $82.56, but can be turned into a round trip ticket to the Bahamas that would normally cost you $618. That’s quite a savings, if you can drink that much Coke.

I’d love to go to the Grand Bahamas, but the cheap bastard in me doesn’t want to “invest” $82.56 to get the tickets. Between now and tomorrow, I can’t drink 64 cups of Coke, and the cheap bastard in me couldn't stand to pour out 64, 12 oz. cups of Coke onto the street.

Which leaves just one option - dumpster diving. The question is, am I ready to scrounge my way to the Caribbean? Can my dignity be purchased for $618?

For those of you will benefit from this promotion, by dumpster or drink, I salute you. Raise a paper umbrella shaded drink to the Caribbean sunset and think of me.

You plucky bastard.

Eat dessert first - for free!

2005-11-29T07:09:00.000-08:00

You have to love a restaurant which celebrates desserts, listing them first in the menu and pushing salads and sandwiches to the back under the headings "Pre-desserts" or "Preludes". Finale, a self-described desseterie with branches in Boston and Cambridge, celebrates the carpe diem phrase - "Life is short, eat dessert first."

Butter, sugar, cream, chocolate, fresh fruit - the stuff that dreams are made of - are presented in traditional and contemporary combinations, each appearing at your table like a miniature stage set or a finely wrapped Christmas present.

And once a year, decadence is absolutely free.

Finale offers a customer reward program - the Friends of Finale. When you sign up you receive a gold Finale card. Present it each time you order dessert, or "preludes", and earn points you can spend on more tastes of heaven (as a bonus, just for signing up for the card they'll give you 25 points).

First among the many membership perks of being a Friend of Finale is a free dessert on your birthday. That's right, order the flourless chocolate cake, the personal cheesecake, the creme brulee, the death by chocolate, whatever your vice - for you, for once, it's free.

This customer loyalty reward program also includes invitations to wine tastings and dessert premiers. Yes, you read that right. When the Red Sox won the World Series, Finale got into the spirit with Sox Celebration, a dessert as worthy of a red carpet premiere as any Hollywood starlet.

Finale is located in Cambridge in Harvard Square, and in Boston in the Boston Park Plaza.

click click click - cheap bastard philanthropy

2005-11-17T07:56:00.000-08:00

Every morning when I log into my computer at work I make a point of heading to thebreastcancersite.com where with a quick click on the pink cyber-ribbon I can fund a free mammogram for a woman who can't afford one. That and a cup of Earl Grey tea really start my day out on the right foot.

This morning's work day began with a three hour BSR Advance computer training course. Now, I have alot of appreciation for this computer program, but if you have a room of 20 people running the same training scenarios on a training database the progress is sloooooooooow - high school Algebra slow, DMV auto registration slow.

As my computer slowly scrawled through data I considered that thebreastcancersite.com can't be the only click philanthropy available. A quick Google search on "click philanthropy" immediately produced a list of websites.

Within 3 minutes I had planted a tree in the rainforest, bought a winter coat for a poor child, and by voting for my favorite NFL team, donated a can of soup to a food bank. The rush of endorphins that these small acts of philanthropy produced made the morning pass pleasantly. That's what I call cheap bastard philanthropy.

The (Blue) Hills are alive

2005-11-14T18:58:00.000-08:00

Sunday the weather was magnificent. Massachusetts has been getting all of its rare October days in November, with combinations of warm blue days and bright yellow leaves.

SG and I decided to go for a hike in the Blue Hills Reservation. Located just south of Boston, it took us just 25 minutes to get there in the usual weekend congestion of Rte 93. This highway can become a parking lot of fevered Cape Codders racing to relax.

It's from the native people of the Blue Hills that Massachusetts gets its name, it translates to "people of the hills." Unlike some of the other popular hiking parks in Mass., entry to the Reservation's hiking and multi-use (read bikes, people and horses) is free.

We arrived just after noon, and pulled over on the shoulder, the parking lots already full. We had forgotten to buy water for the hike, and at the park's water fountains had been shut off for the post-season. After all, it wouldn't be unusual in Massachusetts for their pipes to freeze and burst by mid-November.

I spied a darkened soda and water vending machine at the edge of the parking lot. I waded through the weeds to find the electrical plug, and the machine quickly powered to life. I fed it two dollars, and promptly received 75 cents in change - but no water. The vending machine was dry and empty - so much for my Yankee ingenuity. SG unplugged the machine for me, and undetered, we entered the forest.

Despite the packed parking lot, there was little traffic on the trails. That may have been because the SG and I foolishly chose the second most challenging trail, identified by blue blazes (sadly, we did not have the opportunity to euphemistically curse - "what in the blue blazes do you think you're doing?" while on the trail). Within minutes of choosing the cheerful sky blue, we were climbing near ninety degree escarpments to the top of Hancock Hill. I wheezed and panted all the way, but kept on, because damn it, we were having fun.

From the top of Hancock Hill the view is truly panoramic. The Reservations hills and forest stretch to the south, and with a slow turn you can see all the way to the Atlantic coast, and further west, downtown Boston and the Charles River.

SG and I wandered through the small meadow atop the hill, among the slender birch saplings. As we stood had in hand, staring west to the sea, I was hoping the view might surpass, or at least match, the views of his native Blue Ridge Mountains. But I was contented to hear his review - "Not bad."

Not bad at all, for the cost of gas to Milton and a $1.25 donation to the Reservation's vending machine.

the french consul's couch and the chocolat chaud

2005-11-12T10:38:00.000-08:00

I have new zippered knee high boots. This is significant for two reasons, one is that I've never owned the zippered kind, having to settle for slouchy leather, thanks to my soccer player calves (oh, for the legs of a dancer). The second reason this is significant is that like any prudent Yankee, I decided to spray them with silicone before wearing them for the first time, making them water tight, but also very slippery.

The SG and I received a last minute invitation to the French Consul's home for a champagne reception last night. The invitation was the result of our volunteer work for a local film foundation, proving that some good deeds are rewarded. Excited to be going somewhere so swank, I decided to silicone the boots yesterday morning, in time for the 6 o'clock reception that evening. Eight hours and two coats of silicone later, I was on my way to the French Consul's home reeking of petroleum. I was convinced someone would sidle up to SG at the party and say - "your wife's skirt is too loud, and she smells like an oil well." The SG would smack the offender across the face with his wool gloves, and it would be crossed swords at sunrise.

We got to the French Consul's house fashionably late, bien sur, and much to my delight were offered a choice of wine, champagne, or kir. This crimson colored combination of champagne and cassis is a traditional French drink for celebrations, and one of my personal favorites. And how much better it tastes when served with what my friend M. called "the real stuff. the good stuff." Formidable! In a world's collide moment, I slipped into the living room to discover that the French Consul has the same couch as my mother. As my mother would put it, "who knew?"

An hour of cocktail chatter later, it was off to a viewing of a contemporary classic of French cinema, our free passes in hand. We opted for seats in the balacony, adding a vintage touch to the evening. The lights dimmed, and ninety minutes later we tried to sneak out, both bored and confused by the film. I'd like to say we were ninjas, moving through the darkness of the theater unobserved. But my new boots slipped out from under me (damn that silicone) and I tumbled down the last steps of the balcony into the main audience.

The SG helped me to my feet, and by the time we made it to the lobby, I was overcome with giggles of embarassment. So much for the sophisticate. So much for the Francophile. How could we balance our abandonment of le cinema? With another Francophile favorite - chocolat chaud.

LA Burdicks on Brattle Street in Cambridge is a cozy chocolatier that is usually packed with people enjoying their signature hot chocolate. It's nothing more or less than a hand made bar of dark chocolate melted into a cup and combined with just enough steamed milk to keep the mixture liquid. It's amazing - and the generous people of Burdicks will give you a large to-go cup of this elixir with a second to-go cup to share for just $4.50. The SG and I walked home, sipping the magic brew and laughing about our triumph, and my tumble, our elan completely restored.

The total for this evening of international extravagance - some volunteer hours, a nasty shin bruise, and $4.50 in cash. Super fantastique.

Pyara pretty party (3x fast) free chair massage

2005-11-10T12:34:00.000-08:00

One great thing about my job is the free copy of the Boston Globe we receive daily. Yesterday's "Sidekick," the insert which contains the comics and television show times, had a blurb advertising an open house at Pyara Salon featuring "free mini-treatments." I was intrigued by the idea of the mini-treatment - would they polish only one nail, trim only one brow?

I arrived at 5:30, halfway into the festivities. I was met at the door by a saloniste, who took my coat, gave me a coat check number, and escorted me into the products section to "learn more about their holiday offerings." I was just thinking of how to gracefully get my coat back - I wasn't there to shop, I was there for free swag - when she returned with a cup of Aveda signature herbal tea. The mint and licorice combination perked me up sans caffeine. As I drained the cup, I was invited to take a chair for my "finishing touch," with an aesthetician.

Given a choice between her applying eye, lip or cheek make-up, I chose the cheeks. After all, I was once humiliated into buying blush at a Mac counter by a salesman who was gung-ho on "women of my age" losing color in their face (I had just turned 30). It was time to explore what the fairer sex thought about cheek color. Moments later I had my first brush with liquid blush, or rouge, as my Nana would have called it. The affect was subtle, and seemed easy to apply - I could get into this.

I left my seat and was asked if I would like a consultation about my hair with the stylist. Now I have to confess, I haven't cut my hair since May. When my previous stylist raised her rates to $60, I decided it was time to start growing out my hair, perhaps to the point where I could donate a foot of it to wigsforkids.org. This great organization provides wigs to children who've lost their hair to chemotherapy. It would at last unite my cheap bastard tendences with philanthropy. The stylist examined my hair, and pronounced a profound need for a trim before my split ends roll right up to my skull. Even better, she patiently explained how to bring the wave out in my hair without hot rollers, a curling iron, or "scrunching." I left the chair feeling, well, empowered - a very rare response for me in a salon. As I was contemplating scheduling the cut, it was time for my chair massage.

Wow. It was amazing. I was transported. I think she released so many stress spots in my back that I may be a half inch taller. It was well worth the ticket price - which was nothing, except a cup of hot tea, some helpful advice, and a feeling of well being.

As I was leaving I signed up for the mailing list. Turns out they have these pretty party's once a month. So expect me back in the massage chair.

Oh, and I'm going back for my hair cut next week. It's not free - but it's not $60 either.

You spin me right round, baby, right round - holyokemerrygoround.org

2005-11-07T10:49:00.000-08:00

On Sunday SG and I took our three nieces to Holyoke, Mass. to ride the Merry-Go-Round. Many shouts of glee insued from my nieces for the thrill of the ride, and many shouts of glee for the $1 a ride ticket price insued from me.

This is a beautiful, historic merry-go-round, with hand-carved and painted horses. It moves at a good clip, enough to thrill any under ten year old. There are both stationary horses (popular with parents and aunties going along for the ride) and more adventurous up-and-down horses. There's even two sledges for those who just want to sit comfortably and let the world spin past.

Adding to the experience is the cheap popcorn and soda, which can be enjoyed inside or outside in Heritage park.

The merry-go-round arrived in Holyoke in 1929 where it was a fixture of Mountain Park, a privately owned amusement park with wooden roller-coasters and spinners. When the park closed in 1987, the people of Holyoke raised the money through private donation to move the carousel down from the mountain and into Heritage park, across the street from the police station.

The merry-go-round is open Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and several holidays (including Veteran's Day this Friday).

2005-10-31T14:55:00.000-08:00

Mark Twain wrote, "If you don't like the weather in New England, wait a minute." But even his resolve would be strained by the incessant rain this fall. New Englander's who are questioned about how they can bear to live in such a harsh climate usually respond, "but you should see it in the fall." Fall is our season: cerulean skies, trees aflame with color, perfect 60 degrees that make sweater wearing so chic.

But this fall we've had rain, rain and more rain, day in and day out. Weather in the teens, and snow flurries on October 29th. You can imagine, the SG has not been happy. After all, he moved to New England in the fall, and was impressed by how much it lived up to the hype. The apples really were that crisp, there really was frost on the pumpkin.

Finally, there was a respite yesterday. As if the movie director had shouted "Action", the clouds parted and the blue sky shone. The leaves that hadn't given up the ghost, turning from green to brown, shook themselves out in yellows and oranges. The SG and I decided to take a drive to nearby Concord, Massachusetts ("Seat of the Revolution!"). Its downtown is a picture postcard, wide porches and brick fronts. We walked through the historic cemetery, its gravestones decorated with winged skulls. We bought a pumpkin and some cider, I'd packed a picnic lunch. All told, we spent $14 (not including gas, see blow). It was a cheap date, and SG's review "Now this is more like it." Historic Concord saved the day, and SG's mood.

The gas isn't cheap here (is it anywhere?), but the bite was less severe thanks to www.gasbuddy.com. We typed in our zipcode and immediately found that within ten miles, the cheapest gas was at Gas with a Smile, $2.45 for regular unleaded. It's one of those rare stations where you cannot serve yourself, which just added to the experience of total relaxation in the warm sunshine.

You should see this place in the fall.....

I love missingmoney.com

2005-10-21T05:51:00.000-07:00

I love missingmoney.com. This free, web clearing house for the unclaimed funds departments of over 20 states is a great hour of surfing fun. Just go to their site, type in your name, or the name of someone you know, and voila, a list of money that may belong to them.

Since I started my habit of checking in every other month or so, I've found friends and family a total of $3,200. Most of the checks have been small, $50 to $100, but in June I made the big score, finding my cousin Lisa $1,500. Woo woo!

It takes about ten weeks from the time I let someone know they're on the website, to the time the check arrives from the state. And while missingmoney.com doesn't present all states, they do have links to every state Office of the Treasurer, so you can skip over to those sites and search.

Where does the money come from? Why is it on the site? I can tell you the one time I found myself, ($113) it was a travel reimbursement from an old job. Instead of sending it to my home (the bastards) they turned it over to the state. Who knew they were so bitter about losing me?

And I love finding money for other people and letting them know about it. It's my chance to feel like a wealthy philanthropist, scattering $100 bills over the people I know and love. Last night I poured a glass of wine, logged on, and spent a happy hour surfing. I found money for SG's aunt, my old boss, and my cousin Kevin.

So check it out!

Fru Gal and The Southern Gentleman

2005-10-16T12:02:00.000-07:00

This summer I married my Southern Gentleman (SG). He was lured to Harvard on a fellowship and after two years of dating gave up the fair South to stay with me in the frozen North.

He loves me, he does not love New England. He endures New England. He puts up with it for my sake. But it doesn't have to be that way.

This blog launches my one woman attempt to win him over, to woo him with New England's many frosty charms. And to do so on the cheap.

Because in addition to having no money (do you know any part-time writers, part-time grad students, part-time school admins that do?) I'm also a dyed in the wool Yankee. And there's one thing you should know about Yankees. We treat dollars like rubber bands - ssstttreeetch.

In other words, we're cheap.

My Dad put it this way to an Irish cousin fond of calling us "The Yanks".

Dad - Thomas did you make your confirmation?
Thomas - I did.
Dad - Did you make any money at your confirmation?
Thomas - I did.
Dad - Do you still have that money?
Thomas - I don't.
Dad - Well then, you're not a Yankee.

So that's the game - to find what there is to love in New England on little to no money.
Streeeeetch!