Sushiesque

Local flavor

Empty wineglass in bus shelter, Back Bay.

Mini-bottle of Lord Calvert brand Canadian whiskey on outbound platform, Central Square.

Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before

On the lawn of the John A. Volpe National Transportation Systems Center, a federal government building near Kendall Square.
"Miss, you have to delete that picture."
"Sorry, I just saw that turkey and..."
"Delete it."
"Why is there a wild turkey on your lawn?"
"It walks around. Did you delete the picture?"
"Yeah."

Inching towards the coat closet at TT's, in the aftermath of Freezepop.
"Did you see that dude whose kept pushing those girls' heads together so they'd make out?"
"Was that the guy who grabbed my ass?"
"That was a different guy."
"I didn't see him."

At Cambridge Brewing Company, where Web 2.0 was sitting at the next table, pontificating on the Future of the Internet in a booming voice. Web 2.0 is a dick.
"...but that isn't where the revenue streams will come from"
"The entire web is your avatar"
"The future isn't Second Life per se"
"What we're doing is revolutionary"
"Why isn't there a Tivo on every television set in America?"
We briefly considered generating some user-generated content (a mashup of nacho detritus and somebody's face) but chose to finish off our barleywine and leave fucking dynamically.

Lunch in Central Square

"Do you have a camera? Is it one of those cameras where you can see the picture on the back? Can you take a picture of me? I want to see myself. Thanks. Can I see? I'm grinning like a monkey."

Snakes on a sidewalk

It's Sunday afternoon outside the Lechemere T stop and I'm waiting for the "walk" signal so I can proceed to the mall and the purchase of hosiery. The older man in a long black leather coat isn't waiting: he strides into the traffic and the honking of horns, to which he replies with a resounding "Fuck you." Back on the timid, law-abiding end of the crosswalk, we all chuckle.

Closer to the mall, the jaywalking man turns around and waves to no one in particular and says "Goodbye, snakes! Goodbye!" I keep a few paces behind. He begins to mutter to himself and brandishing a copy of Stuff@night (Boston's free weekly of club fashion and upscale party photos that should be renamed White People Smiling).

"...I know your family. You're an I Want. Nobody likes an I Want. The I Wants don't even like each other."

I hurry towards Sears and the stockings with the seams up the back.

I Think A Freshman Finished A Scavenger Hunt

It's Friday night and I'm walking through Harvard Square, wearing my fetchingest tie and carrying a freshly-purchased issue of the Believer. (I'm glad to live in a place where the bookshops are open late. If only anything else was!) The baseball-watching, Sox-cheering crowd in front of Cardullo's has just triumphantly dispersed for the night. As I walk past the Coop, a young man says, "Can I have your autograph?"

"Why?"

"Just 'cause."

"Hmm."

He hands me a ballpoint pen and presents the back of a hand. I scrawl an illegible Christine and say, "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

And now I know it's time to go home.

we should have a convention every week

9:00 am. Despite the apocalyptic warnings, the T is actually running way more smoothly than usual during convention week. I was about an hour and a half early for my interview at the Boston Architectural Center. I got a key lime pie Krispy Kreme and settled onto a bench in the Pru mall courtyard and watched the news helicopters rumble by and the two DNC passholders who shed their backpacks to play frisbee on the manicured lawn.

10:30 am. I always talk to crazy people when en route to job interviews. This time it was a really sweet guy who, despite crucifix and apparent homelessness, asked me for neither religious conversion nor money. He just wanted to show me a color printout of George W. Bush with the Ring and an awesome drawing of his own making, of a big red robot.

Noonish. Demdates.com representatives gave me a sticker, because they are the hotter party.

1:00 pm. Falun Dafa people were freaking me out by wandering around drenched in fake human-rights-violations blood. And this truck of righteousness seemed to be driving in circles around the Common:

2:00 pm.

Downtown Crossing got served.

drunk? crazy? drunk to cover for the CRAZY?

"You're beautiful."
"What?"
"You're a very beautiful girl."
"Oh. Thanks."
"I'm totally messed up, right?"
"I'm sure you're not at your best."
"Well, you're very beautiful."
"Thanks."

The next girl who got on the train was equally beautiful; more beautiful, probably, for the 18-pack of Budweiser she carried. After exchanging similar pleasantries, he tried to buy the beer off her for twenty dollars.

"Sorry, dude."
"Okay. Can I help you carry it?"
"Nah."
"I could be that kind of guy."

He gave up, eventually, and talked to the guy next to him about the Red Sox. Getting off the train at Sullivan Square, he stopped on his way to the door to lurch at the beer girl for an attempted kiss.

She dodged gracefully.

Gabe saw Assassins

From the Hampshire Alumni / Gabe McKee Fan Forum:

Y'know who was an interesting person? Sam Byck. In the waning days of Richard Nixon's presidency, he attempted to hijack a plane and crash it into the White House, killing two airport guards before being killed himself. For a few years before that, this out-of-work tire salesman sent audio tapes to various celebrities, telling them what he thought was wrong with the world. He's currently being portayed on Broadway by Mario Cantone in Steven Sondheim's musical "Assassins," a great show all around which I first saw in a college production last year at MIT, which, it seems, has a musical theater program. (Who knew?) The show features a monologue by Mr. Byck, in the form of an audio tape to Leonard Bernstein, which is absolutely brilliant comedy. Anyway, I recently learned that my mother, when she was working in the Free Library of Philadelphia in the 70s, knew Mr. Byck. She says he was annoying and a little scary, and would frequently and loudly harass the reference librarians with his tirades, disturbing patrons and staff alike.

It is, as they say, a small world.

If the IMDB is to be believed, Sean Penn will be playing Mr. Byck in a film called The Assassination of Richard Nixon.

like Dylan in the movies

After seeing Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Jess & I got Chinese at Buddha's Delight. All the meat there is fake meat, so the menu makes frequent use of quotation marks: "Chicken" Fingers, "Pork" Lo-Mein, Mixed Vegetables Stir-fried With "Shrimp". Which is supposed to indicate vegetarian food, but sounds like sarcastic food.

the balloon animal's broken heart

Tonight there were two unkempt men with a pile of brightly-colored balloons and a tape player standing near the end of a platform at the Downtown Crossing T stop. Maybe they were crazy people; they seemed very cheerful and festive. Listening to old songs on their tape player, they made animals out of their balloons -- I was presented with a purple dog. It had a red balloon in the shape of a heart tied around its tail.

I sat down at the other end of the platform. I could hear the song they were playing, which was about how Elvis should be elected President.