Yeah…

I changed some stuff around here, appearance-wise.

Looks good, eh?

The new header image is part of the Boston skyline from the Cambridge side of the Charles. Today was absolutely gorgeous. I love this city.

To Ride or Not To Ride: A Look at Biking in Boston

I was pondering while cruising around on my Navigator today…

Notice I said “on” and not “in,” as I don’t mean Lincoln Navigator, the car, but instead refer to my 2002 Trek Navigator mountain bike. Yes, it’s pretty pimp, cherry red, with the usual wear-and-tear of a 6-year old bike that was my main method of commute for several years before I got my Rav-4. It’s actually been a blessing to have it in Boston recently, and though I still have my car and the T is fairly reliable, it takes me only 10 minutes to get to Fenway by bike. Walking takes over 30 minutes, taking the T would be retarded [I am on the E line, the only part of the green line not Fenway-accessible, so I’d have to go downtown and transfer back – oh, it’d be a mess], and driving takes about the same amount of time as biking, but with the added pressure of where to park. There are metered spots all along Brookline and Commonwealth Avenues, but with two-hour meters every day but Sunday, that’s a huge waste of highly-coveted laundry quarters. So that leaves the sensible bike for transportation. With the hot, sunny days we’ve been having, it’s been gorgeous riding to work and home, as well as other destinations – the Public Garden and Boylston Street Starbucks this week so far. It’s been freeing to just go for a ride, enjoy the summer, and just enjoy doing whatever the hell I want. The only sad part is that Boston weather doesn’t permit biking all year, and I’ve only got a good three, maybe four, months of bike-worthy weather before I have to retire it for the winter.

Nothing is prefect, though. I’ll admit, it’s partially exhilarating, but partially frightening. Biking the mean streets of Boston is a gamble – the people drive like maniacs and I’m concerned that one day, cruising down Parker Street I’ll get crushed by one of those huge Escalades that zoom around Mission Hill’s corners and that’ll be the end of me. One morning I was scared shitless – a truck opened its door into my path right as I was rolling by. With my cat-like reflexes, I was able to swerve out of the way, but had traffic been thick I would have been like a smashed bug on a windshield. A scary thought.

So why keep biking if it is so dangerous? Well, I love it. But for seriousness’ sake [ha], here is a list of pros and cons regarding biking in Boston:

PROS

1) Easy to get around and easy to park. Just lock up the bike to a light pole and go!

2) Can ride on streets or sidewalks. There aren’t any signs saying not to. Options = a girl’s best friend.

3) Don’t have to pay for gas. And thereby also help out that whole global warming thingamajigger.

4) Burn up fat from my ass. I already feel less fluffy.

5) Work on my tan while I’m commuting. So it’s a farmer’s tan, whatever. At least it’s color.

6) It’s fun! And I’m sure I look super-cool with my shades and my…bicycle…

CONS

1) Scary. I don’t wear a helmet [although I know I should] and am afraid of possible serious brain injury/maiming/death by accident.

2) Don’t get “holla’d” at enough. I mean, c’mon guys! I’m here, on a bike, in a short khaki cargo skirt! Can you please yell a bit at the cute blonde rolling by?? I even rode by a group of construction guys on their lunch break today. Nothing. Humph.

3) Summer heat + exercise by bike = excessive sweat. Hmm, maybe that answers lack of getting “holla’d” at…

4) Having to carry the bike up and down stairs every day. I store it in my apartment, because I don’t want to leave it outside, exposed to the elements and possible theft. One day I fell on it. No, not off it, on it. I was walking down the stairs with it, dropped it, tripped and fell on it, making a huge, nasty bruise on my calf that looked like a weird bite mark. I was questioned about it for weeks.

5) Drunk biking = no-no.

6) Can’t multi-task in the same way. I have had phone conversations while biking, true, but they’re always choppy and I get out of breath pedaling uphill and distracted by jumping curbs and looking out for traffic. Although today I saw two bikers go by me, one was drinking Starbucks coffee and the other had eaten some sort of snack and was holding an empty Tupperware container in his hands. I thought, ‘Hmm. Well, that’s impressive.’

By simple numbers, the pros and cons sides tie. So I guess that means go get a helmet [and thus resign myself to “helmet hair”], a milk crate for the front of the bike, and keep on pedaling.

Never Enough Time…or The Panic Was So Far-Reaching It Could Be Described As Widespread

You know, there’s just never enough time to do all the things I have to do and all the things I want to do. So I either put off the former, stress out, get anxiety-ridden, and feel like a loser…or put off the latter, and feel unfulfilled and like a loser. Both results in me feeling like a loser. Why, oh why, can’t I just be independently wealthy, and spend my days reading, writing, crafting, drinking coffee, and enjoying the great city in which I live?

One of the things I want to do on a regular basis is write. Since I made the decision to actively do so [in my quest of becoming a "writer"], I’ve made leaps and bounds in my prioritizing “writing” and putting it near the top of the list [even above "laundry" and "gettin' money from my hoes"]. But I haven’t enough time in the day! I don’t even get it. I work all day, come home, watch a tiny bit of television, check my email, then all of the sudden it’s time for bed! No time to write, unless I drink massive amounts of coffee and/or alcohol, and don’t sleep…which I’d do, but my youthful face would suffer, I fear. And I like being 25, yet still passing for a teenager. It gives me hope for when I enter my 30s [which a jerk I work with reminded me is not too far off].

So, specifically, I wanted to write about my most recent experiences at a concert. I began writing the story a couple days ago, so finally, here it is:

The panic was so far-reaching it could be described as widespread…

The concert tonight exceeded any of my expectations, the few that I had. I met Steve, the tour manager [or so his business card read] at Fenway on Wednesday. He offered me tickets to see Widespread Panic on Thursday night, so how could I refuse? Free concert = awesome. My roommate and a friend said they’d come with me, and we met at the Bank of America Pavilion down by the Boston Harbor at 7:00. Will call didn’t have me on “the list” so I called Steve, and he brought the four tickets up [and my roommate called the situation "dodgy"]. I only had two friends, so there was an extra ticket that my roommate promptly sold for twenty bucks. I said we couldn’t sell a free ticket, but he’s Irish and doesn’t follow normal rules.

When we got inside, the scent of marijuana wafted through the air. With ten-dollar beers in hand, we laughed, joked, and chatted while Widespread Panic jammed on stage. Upon drinking the second alcoholic beverage, and as the sun finally set, we stood up and joined the throngs of hippies dancing in the aisles of the pavilion, moving their bodies without inhibitions. There was no way we could refuse the call of the music [especially a ten-minute jam of Bill Withers' "Use Me"] and soon we, too, shook and gyrated like the white people we are. The dancing was contagious! And actually, quite fun. Even the cute four-year old girl with glasses was running up and down the aisles, jumping and shaking about. In the bathroom, my friend and I encountered the ballerina-turned-hippie, who demonstrated her years of ballet study with a glissade and an arabesque before flitting her way back to her seat.

At 10, a we finally departed and made our way to Hennessey’s near Faneuil Hall for an awesome 90s rock cover band that jams there on Thursday nights. The bar was so hot that during the band’s break, I turned the fan that cooled them off to me and stood in front of it. Unfortunately I got too close and my hair got stuck in the fan. A helpful bystander cut off the fan and we dislodged the majority of my tresses, leaving only a small chunk of my blonde locks in the fan — I told the band’s singer it was a special gift from me. Some Sam Summers, shots, and shaking it later, and we were on the move again to J.J. Foley’s for more drinks. At 3am, we were finally in a cab to go home. All in all, a good night of music, dancing, drinking, friends, and fun.

See, if I had more time in the day, I’m sure that story could be better. But at this point I’m just happy to have a minute to sit and recall it, let alone the time to type out my memories about that night.

Maybe one day I’ll either: 1) win the lottery, quit my job and have time to write all day, or 2) meet a hot, rich, amazingly sensitive and brilliant older man who will pay all my bills and I’ll quit my job and have time to write all day.

I’m pretty sure that I have a better shot at winning the lottery.

The Weird People You See While Waiting for the Boston T at Midnight on a Tuesday

Here are a few of the strange or interesting people I saw while waiting for the T tonight:

1. The old lady who looked like a more decrepit version of my ex’s mother. She had a blanket draped over her shoulders [in the heat of July] and her tennis shoes weren’t completely on her feet. She also did that homeless-and-drugged-look-around-the-room thing. I avoided eye contact. I didn’t have any spare change.
2. The cute yet dweeby-looking kid who was reading a book entitled “People Skills.” No comment necessary.
3. The tall, large woman with pink hair and lots of tattoos. She also had on huge shoes.
4. The group of noisy Northeastern students — you can always pick them out by their overt preppy-ness, and the fact that they always travel in packs of 15 or more.
5. The once-potential roommate who looked at my apartment in April. John emailed me about my ad on craigstlist, seemed interested, then a couple days later was no longer interested. Then a week after that, he sent me a facebook message [I guess he searched for me to see my picture?] and was interested again. By that point, I was sufficiently creeped out, but agreed, since I had no other prospects. So we set a day and time. It happened to be the day my ex finished moving out, and I asked him to stay until John got there, as a one last ex-boyfriend duty–you know, just in case John turned out to be a psycho murderer, my ex would be the buffer [and maybe John would spare me]. John arrived, and looked paler and with redder hair than his picture suggested. He seemed nice enough, until he asked me, “So…do you like to party?” My ex and I glanced at each other, not knowing what to say. Then my ex said, “Well, I think she parties just as much as anyone else…” I never heard back from John about the apartment, so I guess that was the wrong answer. Maybe he was hoping I’d say, “Oh yeah, had a rager last night. Just finished getting the hookers and coke cleaned up before you got here.”
6. The kid who got caught in the doors of the T, and his cell phone fell out of his pocket. I’ve never seen that happen before–I wasn’t even sure it could happen [don't they have some kind of safeguard for closing the doors on passengers, like the motion sensors in elevators?]. But it did happen. And I had to contain myself from staring, pointing, and laughing. It was awesome.
7. The girl in a cleavage-bearing top, staring at strangers, smiling to herself, and scribbling furiously in her bright orange notebook. Oh wait. That was me.