(Source: myjetpack, via thegiantsquidofawesome)
In the past four years I have lived in seven different places. That’s seven bedrooms, six cities, five mattresses, three roommates, three apartments, three dorm rooms, three houses, and a bunch of other numbers I’m too lazy to count out. Plus I’ll be adding one more to most of those in a month anyway.
Allston, MA isn’t known for being the most high-class neighborhood in Boston, though it does have historically creative roots (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow apparently lived here at some point, and while I’m sure it’s not actually, I’m totally convinced that the street I live on is named for him). Other inhabitants have included Aerosmith, Mike Bloomberg, and Jared Leto.
I should’ve saved my nostalgia post for now, because the past few have been increasingly so, but instead today I bring you apartment, for Allston is nothing if not a student ghetto.
Apartment - 1640s. Not surprisingly, from the Latin ad + pars (also known as apart). ‘Tis a place apart from others, so named because of the tendency to shove as many as close together as possible. Actually not true, but close. A separated place, like the Italian appartimento or French appartement. Separated places within another place. Voilà!
And now, a poem:
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
picnics are awesome,
and so is food.
It is now officially my last full week in Boston. I’ve been here on and off (mostly on) since August 31st, 2008, and completely on since September 1st, 2010. Here is where I made best friends, went on adventures, explored, turned 21, fell in love, found my passions, and applied for and was accepted to grad school. That grad school is what is taking me from here - southward, to New York City.
Going to Emerson meant that for a while I got to live in one of the most gorgeous (and expensive) parts of Boston: on the common. The Boston Common and Public Garden are to Boston what Central Park is to NYC. The Common was founded in 1634, and the Garden in 1837. In them I’ve participated in scavenger hunts, taken walks in the day and night, had snowball fights, played with puppies, sunbathed, gone on dates, and, most recently, taken pictures with my parents and friends after my commencement ceremony.
So, naturally, a final picnic seemed in order.
Picnic is one of those words that doesn’t seem weird until you really think about it. Picnic. Pick. Nick. Where on earth did it come from?
From Snopes.com: “Picnic began life as a 17th-century French word…A 1692 edition of Origines de la Langue Francoise de Menage mentions ‘piquenique’ as being of recent origin marks the first appearance of the word in print…The first documented appearance of the term outside the French language occurred in 1748, but it was 1800 or thereabouts before anyone can prove it made it into the English language…Originally, the term described the element of individual contribution each guest was supposed to make towards the repast, as everyone who had been invited to social events styled as ‘picnics’ was expected to turn up bearing a dish to add to the common feast. This element was picked up in other ‘picnic’ terms, such as ‘picnic society,’ which described gatherings of the intelligentsia where everyone was expected to perform or in some other way contribute to the success of the evening. Over time, the meaning of the word shifted to emphasize an alfresco element that had crept into the evolving concept of what such gatherings were supposed to be.”
Yet another word we can thank the French for.