Saturday coffee scene

Only in Lexington, MA, at Peet's on Mass Ave on a dimming Saturday afternoon

Can I get annoyed by a college girl in leggings and clunky boots (Brandeis?  Bentley?  Can college kids really afford to live in Lexington?) bragging to a friend about how she rocked her audition for The Vagina Monologues at a volume level more appropriate for the stage

And when I wrench around with purpose to glare her into a more appropriate conversational tone for a public space, instead light upon the table between her and I,

Where sits a man of about 88, in trench coat and scally cap and thick glasses,  coffee cup and Science Magazine on the table before him, head slightly bowed as he balances on his cane, either dozing despite the vaginal racket or completely unfazed.

Both possible scenarios are impressive.

Speak of the Devil

Well, no, I hadn't been speaking of him.

And, I hadn't been speaking of or to this (nicknameless) guy I saw several times in December 2009 and January 2010.  He has rarely entered my brainwaves since we bumped cluelessly by each other at the Boylston/Berkeley Starbucks (and he didn't acknowledge my hello) almost 2 years ago.

Yet, yesterday.  The other Starbucks on Boylston (755).  Just done doctoring my iced black eye and turning to walk away, I feel eyes on me.  Look to my left, and a man sitting next to the creamer station, scrolling on his iPad, with  beard, glasses and heavy coat is staring at me with purpose. 

My favorite kind of random Starbucks-on-Boylston guy. Not. I return to facing forward and head to my seat.

It's only 40 minutes later, once laptop is open and logged onto the shop wireless, that I see this message, sent nearly 40 minutes prior, via OKCupid:

Hey (Karin, yes?)

Good to run into you. I hope there are no ill feelings! You look good and I hope things are well.

No shit.

I turned to where he had been sitting.  He had already left.

There are no ill feelings, of course.  Click back to January and March 2010 for my ambivalent feelings (and his ambivalent return of such ambivalence) for the situation as it ended.  I simply had not recognized him.

As I theorized shortly thereafter in chatting with MSF, perhaps a reason Nicknameless and I never worked out was that -- nice and benign and as open to cuddling as he was -- he is the kind of guy who sees an old flame in a coffee shop and rather than sweeping up and greeting her and reintroducing himself, sends her an e-mail from 15 feet away.

So much for leaving early.

What is the point of getting out the door at 8:11, a full 20 to 45 minutes earlier than usual, if I'm just going to stand in my sassy shoes in the slush pile at the corner of G Street and Broadway from 8:14 to 8:33 with 25 other people, seeing no #9 busses (despite a schedule that suggests between 7 and 9 a.m. there should be  one arriving every 5 minutes), then get on the first one to arrive only to be wedged in like a stuffed animal in a pizza palace crane game, regretting the choice to wear the 4-inch heels (only worn because I was leaving early and was going to get to work quickly and thought there were busses coming every 5 minutes so I wouldn't be standing on the pavement for 19 minutes and would surely get a seat once it arrived), but not using that as an excuse to wonder grumpily how still, even in an age where chivalry is not required, there can be professional, working gentlemen who sit in the seats robo-checking smart phones for the entire 20-minute ride into Copley while above them, the aisles are filled with women staggering to stay upright as the bus lurches and groans down the road.

Fun find

Found yesterday serving as a bookmark in my 1965 edition of Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast, which (according to the sticker on the front) I purchased for $1 from the Brattle Book Shop on West Street on July 5, 2003, back when I still waited tables for a living at Legal Sea Foods:

Seems an appropriate tome in which to find a meaningful compliment from a stranger in a restaurant.

Tower in winter (II)

Did I tell y'all that I gave up chocolate for January?

(And that so far I've been very, very good about that?)

Can you understand how much I regret this resolution today, after staying up way too late watching Season 1 of Downton Abbey and waking up to a thundering storm that blew my umbrella inside out on the way to the bus (and, yes, I'm one of those people who'd really rather have it be 10 inches of snow than an inch of rain) and wishing I could drink my coffee faster and enjoying the last 4 hours looking out onto a slate canvas of nothingness, listening to the creak of the tuned mass damper as the wind pushes this building in circles and diagonals and squares.

Tower in winter

Took this phone photo of my workplace yesterday at 9 a.m., from the corner of Stuart Street and Trinity Place, shortly after parking my bike.

Initially, this was taken in order to have something with a time-stamp to text to MSF, as part of our semi-regular I Got to Work On Time!™ accountability exercise. 

But I'm rather taken with it for what it otherwise represents....

.... that the cheapest cell phone can still take a decent picture.

.... that it's possible to ride bike on dry streets on January 9 in Boston, wearing a skirt and peacoat.

.... that I.M. Pei was inspired.

.... cloud coolness.

That is all.

Laugh. (Because, what else?)

This is how my day started:

1)  Get up extra early for a dentist appointment before work.

2)  Drive (instead of preferred bike) to dentist because of buckets'o'rain falling from the sky.

3)  Encounter standstill traffic (because of the early hour and the buckets'o'rain) to get on 93N, to get on Storrow Drive from 93N, and to get off Storrow Drive.

4)  Pay for meter directly in front of dentist office, due to being 15 minutes late due to standstill traffic.

5)  Apologize profusely to front desk staff for being 15 minutes late.

6)  Discover appointment was actually yesterday.

7)  Apologize profusely to hygienist, reschedule for her next available (November 15).

8)  Hear front desk staff mock (yes! they did!) my profuse apologies as I head out, 2 minutes later, with wet head from previous downpour, to collect car from the meter spot paid for an hour.

9)  Park car in more convenient location, walk 4 blocks to work, only to enjoy the continuing downpour while waiting a full minute to cross the St. James/Clarendon wind tunnel.

10) Sit at desk in air-conditioned comfort with wet legs, wet socks, wet head and potential tooth decay.

Later in the morning (to the great benefit of me and anyone else who was going to have to deal with my brilliant mood today) I came across a humor blog called Happy Place, which had just updated its ongoing list of "Brilliantly Sarcastic Responses to Well-Meaning Signs."  Here are 2 of many:

Which made me do that thing at work we all do, which is wanting to laugh uproariously and realizing there are very few things happening in work life that seriously warrant laughing uproariously .... so I can't, because I would give away the fact that I am looking at something inappropriate .... and then trying to stifle my laughter, which in turn makes me start snorting and gasping and, generally, making worse noise than I would have if just f#$%ing LOL'd.

Man.  That felt good. 

Wanting to share the good vibe and the belly laugh, I e-mailed the link to a friend.  He, in turn, shared a link back, this one to The Oatmeal and more specifically, "What we SHOULD have been taught in our senior year of high school".  Here's one of the panels:

This time, I just LOL'd. 

(Thank you very much.)

20-minute Monday: Gluttony

Walking down Elm Street tonight, into the center of Davis Square, I was trying to imagine how I would reflect back on a night like this. One of my best friends is at the hospital with his wife, preparing for their daughter to be born. Earlier, I both cleaned out my clothes closet for the first time in a year and still found time for yoga in Thomas Park in a gusty wind, with storm clouds threatening.


Made veggie curry in the crockpot, too. Go figure.

Now, I've got the Times sports section in front of me -- Nadal at the Open! -- and a fragrant bourbon, mint and ginger concoction to my left here at the bar. I just ate some Jonah crab claws and a BBQ chicken sandwich with apple coleslaw and fries. (Kind of but not really saving room for when Student Driver and I meet for ice cream later.) As I've been eating and drinking, the Man from San Francisco and I are texting images back and forth as if we were dining together: he's seen my cocktail and claws; I've seen his crusty sourdough, cheese spread, TCHO citrus dark chocolate and Big Daddy IPA, as clear as if it were in front of me and not 3100 miles to the west. We're calling these messages "food porn." I seem to have forgotten the potential sensuality of this medium, until now.

Everything about this day just seems right. The luxury in the good joy of friends, in the occasional gluttony, in girlfriends to talk shit with and boys to talk food with, in thunderstorms threatened but not materializing, and in (what I think I've deduced now as) relief at the forecast of a rewarding September, making short work of whatever past gloom has pervaded this so-called last day of summer.

Monday, September 5 (9:16-9:36 p.m.)
Davis Square, Somerville

Eleven-o'clock run...

... on a Sunday night
of a 3-day weekend
at the start

of a new (school) year,
through the streets
of the downtown
of a college town,

is

a cool breeze and
no homework yet,
the pure smell of hormones
and too many girls
waiting in line at
too many bars
and looking
too young
to be facing down
bouncers that big
and wearing
heels that high.

And brother,
do I feel old.

One afternoon at the farmer's market....

.....when I felt like crying

(can't really even say why I did,

but knew I needed to),

I lay on my back in the grass in Copley Square

and did.

Then I looked up at my workplace

and realized,

that even though it felt good to

(and I must have indeed needed to),

there is no need to cry

when the sky is this blue.

Notes from Irene (Day 2)

Neighborly, Again (Sunday, 9:30 a.m.) Thanks to morning goggles, difficult to tell if things are worse or better than last night: raining then and raining now. (When, exactly, were we supposed to get the worst of the worst, again?) Windbursts, capable of knocking over a person who only wants to walk to Dunkin' Donuts, are new. Coffee shop is open, natch, as is 7-11 and there indeed is a Sunday New York Times to be purchased. Clerk there looks both lonely and friendly. He asks how long I think the storm is going to last; 5 minutes later, we're still klatching. Weather .... now officially the best method to get to know your neighbors

Bad Attitude (Sunday, 11:15 a.m.) NYT website reports storm has officially moved through that hood. Manhattanites already noted to be bitching about overreacting city officials and resulting inconvenience. Wonder aloud to cat curled next to me on bed: why it is necessary for anyone to be an asshole in this particular scenario, and if this is specific to New Yorkers.

Unexpected Companion (Sunday, 11:30 a.m. - 4:00 p.m.) Still puzzling about what to most responsibly do with full day of unfettered house arrest when Man from San Francisco awakes and greets the morn, and me, via IM. Converse on chat and phone through brunch, lunch, the brunt of the wind and the better part of an afternoon. Bad news for the much-anticipated now-unopened Sunday Times. Good for warm fuzzies everywhere.

Good Attitude (Sunday, 12-2 p.m.) Bill, out in Holliston, just posted on Facebook: "And we have trees down in the yard." Within 2 hours, a fresh post, this time accompanying a photo of a half-drunk pint of beer: "Yup, when you watch a tree fall on your car, it's that time." Noble.

Running 2 (Sunday, 7:30 p.m.) No rain since mid-afternoon and the space between windbursts has stretched, rather like labor pains in reverse. No excuse to not head out for the 7-miler. Met by dozens of dogwalkers and their charges, most likely to shake off cabin fever much like myself. Streets curiously free of puddles. Yet why, pray tell, does a street sweeper run down the center of Broadway, in sweep mode?

Tree Death (Sunday, 8:30 p.m.) There are fewer finer and sadder ways to spend a Sunday evening than walking through the Back Bay with Claudia, surveying storm damage. And standing on Beacon Street next to the Public Garden, posing with fallen trees already chainsawed down to stumps.

Notes from Irene (Day 1)

Irene approaches and the fun's just begun.

1) Batteries (Friday 6 p.m.)   Two days before landfall and the slots for Cs and Ds are bare in all stores visited along Broadway.  Realize about this time that I don't actually own a flashlight and that I'm not actually going to find one of those anywhere in this city, either.  Briefly consider going door-to-door to see who in the hood is hoarding.

2) Running (Saturday, 11 a.m.)  Sky benignly covered in low clouds, as if in sympathy for our neighbors in North Carolina currently enjoying the eye of the storm. Amazingly, since wind damage is set to be biggest adversary, the air is lifeless, thick and muggy; running on Day Boulevard, notice Carson and M Street beaches fully-staffed with lifeguards and absolutely zero beachgoers. Even though not in the mood for a 16-mile training run, know running in a downpour later in the day is less appealing. Glad for the opening.

3) Highway Driving (Saturday, 3 p.m.)  Heading north on 93 for errand in Wilmington; combination of haze and downpour and kicked-up spray is good for a summer-variety white-out. Drive over Zakim Bridge and don't even realize it's a bridge because side cables are fogged out. What a great idea to run this errand on this day.

4) Friends to the South (Saturday, 4 p.m.)    Text Justin in coastal New Jersey, who had said yesterday he and wife and newborn son were most likely evacuating rather than waiting for potential power outages. Reply:  "Just made it to our hotel in Harrisburg, PA....Long 24 hrs. :-)"   Does not seem like a conversation he and I should ever realistically be having.

5) Neighborly  (Saturday, 5 p.m.)  Rain continues, but less so.  Decide to use the slowdown to stash the plastic chairs and table, along with the impatiens, basil and mint plants from on top of the patio to underneath.  On last trip up for last pot, step in puddle with slippery boots and go ass-over-teakettle and back onto ass.   Before a "S@#$!" even emerges, hear someone from 4 patios over yell, "My God, you OK?" Might be a more effective way to greet neighbors for the first time, but today this is it.

6) Power Outage Etiquette  (Saturday, 8 p.m.)  Talking with a friend, who explains how to treat a freezer and refrigerator in case of loss of electricity.  Learn that I should stock a cooler (note: don't own one) with ice and the fridge food I'm most likely to need, fill the freezer with bowls of water, and don't, in any instance, open either door once the power goes, if it does.   Stuff in the freezer should last 48 hours; stuff in the fridge 24 hours ......as long as the doors aren't opened.  This seems both less and more complicated than possibly imaginable.

7) Drinking  (Saturday, 11 p.m.)  Peruse Facebook.  Note that any friend along the North Atlantic Coast has a status that involves alcohol.   Concoctions at The Foundry in Davis, waiting, with friends. Drinking wine, and waiting.  Photos of bleary-eyed women with tequila nearly pouring out their eyes, waiting. Peach, sour mix and soda in a cartoon-character glass, waiting.   Trying to figure out why I have no desire to drink my way through this.

7) Anticipating Tomorrow  (Saturday, 11:30 p.m.)  Church cancelled -- yay.  T shutting down at noon -- oh my.   Gym closing at noon, and am I going to drag butt out of bed, losing current rock-star parking spot, to go there before that hour for the Sunday training run I can't possibly do outside? -- eh, know I should and somehow can't imagine it.   Fantasy about how nice it would be to have a warm body other than a cat to spend a day inside with? -- sadly, just a fantasy.   Fantasy about sleeping in, walking to corner for DD coffee, coming back with Sunday Times for a day of chillness marred by concern that with New York shutting down for the day, will there even be a Sunday Times tomorrow? -- another question both unrealistic and totally relevant.  

8)  Seriously?  (Saturday, 11:45 p.m.)  Have always known that by being at the end of Irene's path, Massachusetts will get the storm at its least vigorous.  Realize that by being at the end of Irene's path, the wait for if this is really going to kick our asses or not is all the more excruciating.  Sixteen hours to potential impact, and still can't decide how seriously to take this. Kind of wish I could go somewhere and watch waves. Don't know how or where.

Early anniversary

Tonight over happy hour cocktails, I asked my manager if he thought the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks would cause the financial markets to panic (like they did, screamingly, again today, natch) and he suggested most likely not because a) the markets of recent years have not been reacting to terrorist activity like they used to and b) the markets already have enough to be panicky about (or think they do, anyway), but by bringing up the topic I was reminded I'll be returning to BOS via an AirTran flight from MSP on that anniversary, which caused me to declare in a beer voice that I was not going to fall into the trap of thinking bad thoughts about doing so, which led him to tell me what it was like to be in midtown Manhattan at a conference on that morning in 2001 and watch Broadway go empty and traffic cease and ash-covered people stumble past his hotel and how no one could reach him because cell phone service was overloaded and how his hotel wouldn't let him leave town until the next day because the roads were closed down, and I was reminded of that same day in the town the planes came from, of walking through the Back Bay only to encounter Copley Square doing the same as Times Square and getting to work only to get sent home and sitting on a bench in the deserted Common under the bluest (and most deserted) sky ever and hearing the birds chirp because cars had deserted the city and that it was that silence I can't forget, more than the potential panic of not being able to imagine what was going to happen next, and as we were discussing these things I realized these kinds of stories are going to fill the air for the next 24 days, and that I found it a relief to get my reminiscing out of the way early so I can get on to enjoying the rest of my summer without fear.

Cliché

But 

you have to admit 

it's a pretty fine view, 

as far as 

fireworks are concerned.

(Thanks, Claudia,

for living

on the 24th floor

 and

in the Back Bay.)

Sunday in Central

Hangin' at The Middle East, corner of Brookline and Mass Ave in Cambridge.

Late brunch choice: fool m'dammas, falafel and beef skewer for 7 bucks.
Weather:  79 and hazy outside, blissfully non-air-conditioned and dusky inside.
Best place to: sit and try to forget that an 8-mile training run in 79-and-hazy awaits.
Questionable soundtrack choice:  The Ronettes' "Frosty the Snowman."
Vibe: tattoed, fishnetted, vintage t-shirted, dog-friendly, Christmas-lighted.
Quality-ranking of people-watching out picture windows: Newbury Street doesn't hold a candle to Central Square.
Note to self:  belly-dancing offered here later tonight.  
2nd note to self:  why are there not more people here?
3rd note to self:  awesome there are not more people here.
Soundtrack (vast) improvement to: Nirvana, "MTV Unplugged in NY." From 1994. Best. Album. Ever.
Weather update: downpouring.
Quality-ranking of people-watching-out-picture window update: exponentially higher now that it's downpouring.
Sigh:    4-mile bike ride home and 8-mile training run still await.
Yet:  can't remember last time feeling this chilled-out.
4th note to self: come here more often.
And: post Kurt Cobain singing his acoustic cover of Lead Belly's version of "Where Did You Sleep Last Night," what he is singing right now, which is the best-ever depressing song that makes me happy ... for whatever reason that may be.

Statistical diversion

Everytime someone in Boston hears for the first time that I'm from North Dakota, he or she inevitably follows with a crack about awful weather.  I always respond that it really isn't that much worse, just more intense and longer-lasting.

But I now have to respectfully disagree with my own past assessment.  Between Montana snowmelt and a wet spring, flood conditions are pretty cruelly kicking North Dakota's ass.

First, the Devils Lake region, a crisis years in the making that is displacing thousands of farmers. Then Bismarck's torture-drip of Garrison Dam releases, thanks to obscene snowmelt in Montana, allowing the Missouri river to cover the southern half the city through the summer. Then, at this very moment, Minot is experiencing levee breaches on the Souris River expected to inundate the homes of over 10,000 residents (including a number of friends and schoolmates); a full quarter of the city has been mandatorily evacuated.

Holy crap.

(And like Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that. Except that North Dakotans are notoriously community-minded and stubborn and, once banded, will soon be kicking the flood's ass. I have no doubt.)

Because anything I write today will be trite in light of this catastrophe, it seems the perfect day to bring up the fact that I this week -- after 3 years and 825 posts -- discovered the "stats" tab of this here blog: it essentially tells me what pages are most clicked on and from what referrering websites the clickers come. I can see in a day, in a week, in a month, or for "all-time," the most popular individual posts.

So. 

The All-Time Top-5 Most-Clicked Single in the City posts (in ascending order) are:

5) Friday (or a short tale in 19 scenes) -- 03/19/2011  In which I go to Symphony Hall in my yoga pants. And get ditched by an accountant.

4) The cliché of a Monday -- 11/09/2009    This was one of my many undistinguished gripe-fests, ending with a ode to Boston Public Works for getting the Southie Christmas tree stand out 2 months in advance. I can't figure out why it would ever attract a second reading, unless the BPW has it linked to their employee website?

3) Just a Couple Girls Cross-Posting -- 12/06/2010   Not surprised at this one because it involves traffic from my cross-posting-friend's blog which has a sizable readership of its own. It also includes, I think, the only time I've used the word "douchebag" in a sentence.

2)  Rules for Going out in Southie on a Tuesday --- 05/09/2009   Owing to my own vanity, this could be (by far and away) the next most popular (500 separate hits!) because it involves a photo of my legs in heels and pantyhose. But using that logic, why does the finale of the Bikini Challenge, with its far more revealing pose, not even rate in the top 50? The appeal of this one is also a mystery ..... if you're one of the people clicking on it a lot, let me know why!
 
1) BBC 10: Ode to Storrow -- 03/05/2011    What can I say? When a post gets picked up by The Universal Hub, 677 people read it.

(Laying low) in the city of champions

Two friends posted these status updates on their Facebook pages this morning:

Mike writes:

"Boston, Massachusetts: Superbowl XXXVI (2002) Champions, Superbowl XXXVIII (2004) Champions, 2004 World Series Champions, Superbowl XXXIX (2005) Champions, 2007 World Series Champions, 2008 NBA Champions, 2011 Stanley Cup Champions. 10 years, 7 championships! Boston, city of champions, YOU'RE MY HOME!!!!"

Matt writes:

"In my ten years in Boston I have witnessed 3 Super Bowl champs, 2 World Series, 1 NBA champ, and now a Stanley Cup. What city should I take my sports luck to next???"

While I have embraced the Red Sox and the Celtics (Kevin Garnett!) through their successes, I'll confess that the Bruins have rarely made it onto my radar. In fact, when in Minneapolis over Memorial Day, my (hockey-loving) brother-in-law commented one morning, "Wow, so your team is in the Stanley Cup finals!"  I didn't even know they had made the playoffs.

So went my rationale for not jumping in and "revelling with long-suffering fans in the promised land" last night, despite the children "running down the streets of Southie with sparklers."  Sure, I was tired and needed to go to bed anyway. I also thought, perhaps, the true Beantown loyals would see straight into my faux-celebratory-you're-just-out-here-for-the-public-drinking hypocrisy, and I wasn't in the mood for a swearing match. 

Cool, though, for everyone here who does really care.  Sincerely.  A Championship City isn't a bad place to be.

Grateful (VII)

I've been busy, doing musicals and work and such.  Balint has been busy... composing hymn arrangements for brass, changing apartments, buying pianos ... and he just returned from 10 days in Hungary, too. We hadn't talked in 2 weeks.

I was thusly glad that, while saying hi after this morning's church service, he suggested we go to Newbury Street for sushi. If you have the time, Sunday afternoons are meant for friends and a picturesque street full of blooming trees and tulips. The sun shone warm. A breeze blew cool. I was wearing cuffed-up jeans and hoodie, he his Sunday suit. The prospect of lunch spurred our walk and absence from each other, occurring while so much else had been going on in our respective lives, made conversation nearly as animated. Story followed story followed story. Him, me, him, me.

We had just passed Church of the Covenant when Balint turned and, appropos of nothing, remarked,

"When I think of why I like Boston and all the great things about it, I've come to realize that what really makes me like being here is friends like you.  So don't ever leave!"

I must remember moments like this in those other moments when my soul is not willing to be nearly so grateful.

Life can be good.

Day 7 of 31:  1.1 miles

Day 8 of 31:  8.0 miles

May Total:  21.48

2011 Total:  233.68

Dateline: View of the Office 4/29/11

Taking lunch in Copley Square

I find

I love my building

when the sun is shining.

(A**)-kicking

I last saw Bill in the flesh several months ago, on a 5-mile(psychotic) (running) tour of the South Boston waterfront on a black, icy, blustery January night.

It was definitely time to do a post-work run together again -- and besides, spring had arrived -- so he and I put another 5-miler on the calendar for tonight at 6:30. This time we're meeting at Artesani Park in Brighton and looping the Charles River for old time's sake.

It goes without saying that today ends up being the only night in a 2-week window that the weather is once again:

1) Black. As in blanket fog.

2) Icy. As in temperatures nearing freezing.

3) Blustery. As in blanket rain. As in all day. As in the kind that leaves ankle-deep puddles on the corners.

Besides, I've told you I'm tired and today I'm still tired. (This status refuses to change for some reason).

At 9 a.m., after walking 4 blocks across the Back Bay into the gale to work, I checked in with Bill. Kind of hoping he'd say, Um, yeah right, like we're going to run on the river and drench and muddy and chill ourselves. And that maybe we'd decide together to postpone it to the weekend. And maybe I could just go home after work tonight and sleep....

K:  Seriously. Drove in in a downpour.

B: It's going to be a wet run tonight. I brought lots of clothes to change into after.

K: Seriously. This is the only day we get rain this week….

B: Better than a heat wave.

And that was that. No rising to the bait. No acquiescing to my wimp-out. Which means I'm going to put on my windbreaker and Red Sox cap and go with my friend to catch a fiver. Probably a cold, too.

All because Bill and I are runners, damn it, and as a result, are gluttons for a good A**-kicking from time to time.

Which is probably good for our souls. Please let it be good for our souls.

Just pray we come out alive on the other side.

Day 13 of 30:  4.85 miles

April Total: 27.03

2011 Total: 181.02