Friday, January 14, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
I think I'm in love. Also known as: Music, my prince charming, my Boston TOAD.
“Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch” - w. whitman.
Walt had it right - and so did whoever sharpied that quote onto the mirrorless bathroom wall of Toad. I finally found it - a Boston bean that makes me actually jump up and down because I’m so happy that it exists. I was wondering for a while if I would be eternally surrounded by white collar Harvard/BU/MIT/smartypantstoocoolfortheirowngood students and blue collar sport fanatics.
Yet just two small blocks from my current abode (Boston blocks, not New York blocks, which are apparently much longer) is a tiny little bar with mahogany red walls, friendliness on tap & LIVE MUSIC EVERY SINGLE EFFING NIGHT OF THE WEEK.
Shehime and I popped in per my request (thank you google maps) after the Celtics game... the moment we sat down, my heart almost burst. The first five minutes with my beer was spent with my face smiling and my heart tearing up (with joy) listening to the twangy country influenced indie alt rock of some band called The Gilded Splinters. Reminiscent of Wilco’s album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - the band rocked it’s own origninals and won my heart with a little Willie Nelson. In a cold city, with snow on the sidewalk, I finally found a spot that made me feel warm. I look forward to tomorrow, or any other night I want, when I cozy up in a corner, with a beer & journal - doodling, writing, listening, drinking - all with my own personal soundtrack.
Oh yea, the Celtics game was fun too.
twangy indie goodness: the gilded splinters. finally, I get a dose of music. thank my stars.
love & sunshine and all that hippie goodness that all my friends make fun of me for,
xten
Walt had it right - and so did whoever sharpied that quote onto the mirrorless bathroom wall of Toad. I finally found it - a Boston bean that makes me actually jump up and down because I’m so happy that it exists. I was wondering for a while if I would be eternally surrounded by white collar Harvard/BU/MIT/smartypantstoocoolfortheirowngood students and blue collar sport fanatics.
Yet just two small blocks from my current abode (Boston blocks, not New York blocks, which are apparently much longer) is a tiny little bar with mahogany red walls, friendliness on tap & LIVE MUSIC EVERY SINGLE EFFING NIGHT OF THE WEEK.
Shehime and I popped in per my request (thank you google maps) after the Celtics game... the moment we sat down, my heart almost burst. The first five minutes with my beer was spent with my face smiling and my heart tearing up (with joy) listening to the twangy country influenced indie alt rock of some band called The Gilded Splinters. Reminiscent of Wilco’s album, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - the band rocked it’s own origninals and won my heart with a little Willie Nelson. In a cold city, with snow on the sidewalk, I finally found a spot that made me feel warm. I look forward to tomorrow, or any other night I want, when I cozy up in a corner, with a beer & journal - doodling, writing, listening, drinking - all with my own personal soundtrack.
Oh yea, the Celtics game was fun too.
twangy indie goodness: the gilded splinters. finally, I get a dose of music. thank my stars.
love & sunshine and all that hippie goodness that all my friends make fun of me for,
xten
Saturday, January 8, 2011
clapping mittens & the most perfect cheese in the world
During a moment of sheer giddiness at the snow sifting through the sky and landing on my face, I discovered it. CLAPPING WITH MITTENS. no smack or slap - it’s not even loud. just a padded thud that somehow, despite it’s dull impression, manages to convey every little beam of happiness exuding from me. Like a little kid on christmas. except I’m not that little, and christmas was last month.
I’ll start from the beginning -- and I’ll try to skip over the boring stuff.
Naturally I was minutes from arriving at the airport too late to catch flight number one to Seattle. Of course. When do I not try to squeeze all the joy outta the tube it comes in? I mean, when your presented with a full course dinner (free) at a new (unopened) restaurant in your town - it’s hard to leave. Especially when you’re fed lamb. mmm.
I arrived in Seattle after a mostly sleepless red eye flight, with no jacket- just some guys flannel I managed to snatch before ditching the island. But it’s an adventure and I’m ready for anything. There’s about 30 bathroom stalls in the restroom outside my flight gate. I pick one. And then I notice the pee covered toilet. Scratch that, on to the next one. Ah, clean. And somebody left me some reading material! I grab the book perched above the porcelain.
This Book Will Change Your Life.
snazzy title. Looks like it’s filled with nonsense, but since Fate seems inclined that it be my new traveling companion, I throw it in my carry on and head to flip through this book of wisdom while I wait for my plane to board.
“How is it?” the man next to me asks, looking at my dubiously titled newfound friend.
“well, I found it in a bathroom stall, so it must be good!”
We continue to chit chat: where we’re flying, where we come from, etc: I mention the north shore and he says “Do you by chance know Mara Pike?”
Next thing you know, I’m boarding early.
The rest of the trip has been a process of decompressing. Drinking some beer, bundling up and trying to adjust to east coast time. Which is tough, considering that it’s 3 am right now and I am finally ready to try and sleep.
Sleep should come easy enough after grocery shopping with my favorite Pakistani Italian Bostonian. All I know is that I just had the most delicious italian cheese I’ve ever had - La Tur. $25 for a pound and mind blowing. Complex, creamy, rich, earthy, heavenly and everywhere in between. Figs. wine. cheese. fresh veggies. I am a happy happy camper. Now to snuggle down in my cozy spaceship room, with the humidifier on! Let’s see how much snow I wake up to tomorrow!
-- Xten
I’ll start from the beginning -- and I’ll try to skip over the boring stuff.
Naturally I was minutes from arriving at the airport too late to catch flight number one to Seattle. Of course. When do I not try to squeeze all the joy outta the tube it comes in? I mean, when your presented with a full course dinner (free) at a new (unopened) restaurant in your town - it’s hard to leave. Especially when you’re fed lamb. mmm.
I arrived in Seattle after a mostly sleepless red eye flight, with no jacket- just some guys flannel I managed to snatch before ditching the island. But it’s an adventure and I’m ready for anything. There’s about 30 bathroom stalls in the restroom outside my flight gate. I pick one. And then I notice the pee covered toilet. Scratch that, on to the next one. Ah, clean. And somebody left me some reading material! I grab the book perched above the porcelain.
This Book Will Change Your Life.
snazzy title. Looks like it’s filled with nonsense, but since Fate seems inclined that it be my new traveling companion, I throw it in my carry on and head to flip through this book of wisdom while I wait for my plane to board.
“How is it?” the man next to me asks, looking at my dubiously titled newfound friend.
“well, I found it in a bathroom stall, so it must be good!”
We continue to chit chat: where we’re flying, where we come from, etc: I mention the north shore and he says “Do you by chance know Mara Pike?”
Next thing you know, I’m boarding early.
The rest of the trip has been a process of decompressing. Drinking some beer, bundling up and trying to adjust to east coast time. Which is tough, considering that it’s 3 am right now and I am finally ready to try and sleep.
Sleep should come easy enough after grocery shopping with my favorite Pakistani Italian Bostonian. All I know is that I just had the most delicious italian cheese I’ve ever had - La Tur. $25 for a pound and mind blowing. Complex, creamy, rich, earthy, heavenly and everywhere in between. Figs. wine. cheese. fresh veggies. I am a happy happy camper. Now to snuggle down in my cozy spaceship room, with the humidifier on! Let’s see how much snow I wake up to tomorrow!
-- Xten
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Cardreader fun
Standing patiently in line at the supermarket today watching the poor old lady ahead of me fumble around attempting to work the card slider, I devised a new approach to dealing with this particular piece of technology.
First of all, have you ever noticed how at every store there is a different type of reader? Isn't there some sort of standard? Because there seemingly isn't, I swear that every time I slide my card through the slot on one of these devices I feel like I am taking my life in my hands. With five or more people standing behind me in line- all of them waiting for me to hurry up and get on with it. I usually do a silent prayer that the magnetic strip reader will actually even function correctly, to avoid that embarrassing double or even triple slide. Yes, I swear my card worked fine yesterday! I can feel all of their eyes burning into my back as I figure out what keys to press. "Cash back?" Nope. I wish I could, but the last time I checked- that $2000 that I wanted to pull out at my local Rite Aid doesn't actually exist in my checking account. I fumble around for the "NO" key... is it a touch pad? Or is it this red key? Maybe it's the ENTER looking key... A sense of relief usually floods through my body as I complete transaction without some sort of card reader security coming to usher me off to a back room to interrogate me about my card.
Back to the new approach. I realized that I have been patiently standing in line for years nervously awaiting whatever abuse that stupid thing can throw at me- and today I have decided to lash back in the most amusing of ways. Yes, the idiot in me has taken over, and I am going to take my sweet time.
As a I approach the card reader I immediately put on my best dumb surfer act- to assure the people behind me in line that they are about to be dealing with a very stoned "Bro" that probably has no clue how to even start his car. Better grab that issue of The STAR after all... this might take awhile.
"Hold on..." is my first comment as I fumble for my wallet staring at the little black gizmo like it might be a portal to another dimension. Moving like molasses, I slide my card purposely at a slight angle so the reader doesn't work, then stare dumbly at the clerk while she instructs me to re-slide my card. "Oh..." I smile generously, like I just got a gold star on my spelling test in grade school. This time it works. CLUB CARD NUMBER reads the screen. I smile as I purposely make up a random number, punching it in with authority. Denied. "Oh dude! That was the wrong number..." I say grinning stupidly... and punch in another random number. Nope. "Oh wait... wrong number again!" I exclaim, as if I'm playing in some sort of stoner game show. Unfortunately, Third times the charm as random number 3 works out. Beep. The process starts up. The lady behind me with the giant stack of Huggies brand diapers breaths out a little breath of relief. I hear this and turn to her, still grinning stupidly. "These things are so crazy!" I exclaim in a happily bewildered way. She looks at me like I just stumbled out of Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. Yes, in fact my telephone booth is right outside sweetheart.
When prompted for my PIN NUMBER, I stare at my card for a minute, as if the information on it might contain this number that I am being asked for. I look at the clerk for an answer. "Did you want to do credit?" She asks. "Uhhhhhhh..." I say as I type in my pin number. It works. I do a little jump, as if I'm surprised and excited for what lays ahead. Laughing slightly moronically, I try to strike up a conversation with the clerk as I verify the amount. "Uhh work here long?" I ask... She looks at me and points to the MANAGER inscription above SHERYL on her name tag. "Long enough..." She says sourly. Apparently my act is not earning me any accolades from her. I shrug and utter "It's sunny... " as she hands me my receipt. "Thank you!" I say giving her my most earnest, beaming smile as I scutter out the door with my bags. Chuckling to myself all the way to my truck, I realize that I now look forward to my next encounter with the card reader from hell. <(") C
First of all, have you ever noticed how at every store there is a different type of reader? Isn't there some sort of standard? Because there seemingly isn't, I swear that every time I slide my card through the slot on one of these devices I feel like I am taking my life in my hands. With five or more people standing behind me in line- all of them waiting for me to hurry up and get on with it. I usually do a silent prayer that the magnetic strip reader will actually even function correctly, to avoid that embarrassing double or even triple slide. Yes, I swear my card worked fine yesterday! I can feel all of their eyes burning into my back as I figure out what keys to press. "Cash back?" Nope. I wish I could, but the last time I checked- that $2000 that I wanted to pull out at my local Rite Aid doesn't actually exist in my checking account. I fumble around for the "NO" key... is it a touch pad? Or is it this red key? Maybe it's the ENTER looking key... A sense of relief usually floods through my body as I complete transaction without some sort of card reader security coming to usher me off to a back room to interrogate me about my card.
Back to the new approach. I realized that I have been patiently standing in line for years nervously awaiting whatever abuse that stupid thing can throw at me- and today I have decided to lash back in the most amusing of ways. Yes, the idiot in me has taken over, and I am going to take my sweet time.
As a I approach the card reader I immediately put on my best dumb surfer act- to assure the people behind me in line that they are about to be dealing with a very stoned "Bro" that probably has no clue how to even start his car. Better grab that issue of The STAR after all... this might take awhile.
"Hold on..." is my first comment as I fumble for my wallet staring at the little black gizmo like it might be a portal to another dimension. Moving like molasses, I slide my card purposely at a slight angle so the reader doesn't work, then stare dumbly at the clerk while she instructs me to re-slide my card. "Oh..." I smile generously, like I just got a gold star on my spelling test in grade school. This time it works. CLUB CARD NUMBER reads the screen. I smile as I purposely make up a random number, punching it in with authority. Denied. "Oh dude! That was the wrong number..." I say grinning stupidly... and punch in another random number. Nope. "Oh wait... wrong number again!" I exclaim, as if I'm playing in some sort of stoner game show. Unfortunately, Third times the charm as random number 3 works out. Beep. The process starts up. The lady behind me with the giant stack of Huggies brand diapers breaths out a little breath of relief. I hear this and turn to her, still grinning stupidly. "These things are so crazy!" I exclaim in a happily bewildered way. She looks at me like I just stumbled out of Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. Yes, in fact my telephone booth is right outside sweetheart.
When prompted for my PIN NUMBER, I stare at my card for a minute, as if the information on it might contain this number that I am being asked for. I look at the clerk for an answer. "Did you want to do credit?" She asks. "Uhhhhhhh..." I say as I type in my pin number. It works. I do a little jump, as if I'm surprised and excited for what lays ahead. Laughing slightly moronically, I try to strike up a conversation with the clerk as I verify the amount. "Uhh work here long?" I ask... She looks at me and points to the MANAGER inscription above SHERYL on her name tag. "Long enough..." She says sourly. Apparently my act is not earning me any accolades from her. I shrug and utter "It's sunny... " as she hands me my receipt. "Thank you!" I say giving her my most earnest, beaming smile as I scutter out the door with my bags. Chuckling to myself all the way to my truck, I realize that I now look forward to my next encounter with the card reader from hell. <(") C
the evolution of a day: turning pages.
birth: airport trip - okay, lets do this. Uh oh, she rolled a joint. Well, SURE.
Once you smoke a joint with someone on the way to the airport, that's when they've gotcha. Next thing you know: heyyyyy, can you run some errands for me? yea yea yea ok.
Next move, attempt to escape the airport. smile at security guard.. not too much, uh oh.. that was too much. bye bye rent a cop.
Run errands. nerdy boys smile at me because when I'm stoned & lazy, I look less like a nerd and more like a doesn'tgiveafuck rockstar. Oh well, they can think what they want.
Next move. I want something. Something just for me, a special treat. Contemporary museum? Closed.
Next option: Revolution bookstore. I sift through used books, touching their spines lightly and eyeing dubious titles. Some are luckier than others and I lift them from the shelf. You, you and …. nope, not you.. yes you. wandering around the small store, my fingers softly play over titles and pages… I sniff the air. Mmm. books. they're tantalizing.
The woman running the store eyes me as I prowl through the room, sniffing out titles that stir me. I show her what I'm currently reading and ask for recommendations.
I walk out with 9 books, a local poetry publication and an invite to a reading.
This is the moment when I would normally conclude my town adventure and head back to the country. But not today. Excerpts from my brain to follow:
It's not that the concrete and ground littered with sidewalk that feels good - the strangers I stare at, the loud cement & funny looks I get for being so starstruck by normalcy. It's that I'm out of my element, my world - there's a shift in perspective today.
Mopeds - one two three.
I wish I was eating with chopsticks. I didn't want the plastic fork, but I didn't see the chopsticks either.
A man is sitting next to me. I temporarily ignore his plastic - although probably recycled - bag that flutters towards me like a legless pigeon. Maybe he'll grab it. Oh, I guess not. Now I'm returning it to him… (you just bought food at a hippie health food store, damnit - why do you even have a bag?)
I still wish I had chopsticks.
A girl walks by, pushing her one speed hipster bicycle. I thought the grimace on her face was just a town thing, but really I think it's her flat tire.
Aha! Finally in this sea of strangers, it happens. 15 minutes on the sidewalk. A familiar, surfboard filled new VW bug - Hello North Shorian, way to mess with my pretend anonymous reality.
There's a man. He is confused.
He parks his car, steps out and looks up at the sign:
TOW AWAY ZONE
3:30 - 6:30
Except saturdays, sundays and state holidays.
I can actually SEE his thought process:
(Hmmm. isn't today Colubmus D… huh, Discoverers Day? Isn't that a holiday still, even if it is bullshit? Wait, STATE holiday? Federal Holiday,") He fumbles around, waiting in the gutters.
FUCK IT MAN, who cares, just GO.
I finish the day with my bestie: my book.
Yes boys, I see you, can't you see I'm on a date with my book?
We go to the coffee shop and read.
We go out to sushi and read over wine.
We go to a bar and read.
(We get distracted by: emotionally needy acquaintances that beg for the secret to happiness and self fulfillment , offers of free horseback rides and grown boys that want to get lost in my eyes. All of you, stop it and let me READ!)
We make it home together, with all ten books in tow.
We crawl into bed together.
Satisfied.
Once you smoke a joint with someone on the way to the airport, that's when they've gotcha. Next thing you know: heyyyyy, can you run some errands for me? yea yea yea ok.
Next move, attempt to escape the airport. smile at security guard.. not too much, uh oh.. that was too much. bye bye rent a cop.
Run errands. nerdy boys smile at me because when I'm stoned & lazy, I look less like a nerd and more like a doesn'tgiveafuck rockstar. Oh well, they can think what they want.
Next move. I want something. Something just for me, a special treat. Contemporary museum? Closed.
Next option: Revolution bookstore. I sift through used books, touching their spines lightly and eyeing dubious titles. Some are luckier than others and I lift them from the shelf. You, you and …. nope, not you.. yes you. wandering around the small store, my fingers softly play over titles and pages… I sniff the air. Mmm. books. they're tantalizing.
The woman running the store eyes me as I prowl through the room, sniffing out titles that stir me. I show her what I'm currently reading and ask for recommendations.
I walk out with 9 books, a local poetry publication and an invite to a reading.
This is the moment when I would normally conclude my town adventure and head back to the country. But not today. Excerpts from my brain to follow:
It's not that the concrete and ground littered with sidewalk that feels good - the strangers I stare at, the loud cement & funny looks I get for being so starstruck by normalcy. It's that I'm out of my element, my world - there's a shift in perspective today.
Mopeds - one two three.
I wish I was eating with chopsticks. I didn't want the plastic fork, but I didn't see the chopsticks either.
A man is sitting next to me. I temporarily ignore his plastic - although probably recycled - bag that flutters towards me like a legless pigeon. Maybe he'll grab it. Oh, I guess not. Now I'm returning it to him… (you just bought food at a hippie health food store, damnit - why do you even have a bag?)
I still wish I had chopsticks.
A girl walks by, pushing her one speed hipster bicycle. I thought the grimace on her face was just a town thing, but really I think it's her flat tire.
Aha! Finally in this sea of strangers, it happens. 15 minutes on the sidewalk. A familiar, surfboard filled new VW bug - Hello North Shorian, way to mess with my pretend anonymous reality.
There's a man. He is confused.
He parks his car, steps out and looks up at the sign:
TOW AWAY ZONE
3:30 - 6:30
Except saturdays, sundays and state holidays.
I can actually SEE his thought process:
(Hmmm. isn't today Colubmus D… huh, Discoverers Day? Isn't that a holiday still, even if it is bullshit? Wait, STATE holiday? Federal Holiday,") He fumbles around, waiting in the gutters.
FUCK IT MAN, who cares, just GO.
I finish the day with my bestie: my book.
Yes boys, I see you, can't you see I'm on a date with my book?
We go to the coffee shop and read.
We go out to sushi and read over wine.
We go to a bar and read.
(We get distracted by: emotionally needy acquaintances that beg for the secret to happiness and self fulfillment , offers of free horseback rides and grown boys that want to get lost in my eyes. All of you, stop it and let me READ!)
We make it home together, with all ten books in tow.
We crawl into bed together.
Satisfied.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Trolling
a few personal thoughts on 1986 horror? film, Troll.
5 stars!
I never really thought Trolls were creepy until I saw one disguised as Full House's Jodie Sweeney.
Troll Procreation: Violent troll bite incites magical slimy forests - complete with angry but somewhat trollmesticated fishhead men & caves full of squirmy hairy mini trolls.
Harry Potter is the main character. I'm not kidding.
How do you not notice a steamy troll garden in your laundry room? A musical, steamy, singing troll fern garden...
And why do I secretly wanna live there??
(Because I'll get to live with Julia Louis Dreyfuss & dance around with an ivy wreath on my head? Exactly.)
Your canary is a pod person from the planet Mars!!!
On a less random note.
I wish I was one of those people that can just modify their clothes and make them look hipper. I mean, sometimes I try.... and I always go into it, without thinking, but somehow convinced that all it's gonna take is a little snip chop tie wham bam - omygod I'm a fashion icon!
Nope. Turns out that impulsive scissoring of your clothes never makes it look better. I always think it will, I always think that this time - this one time! cutting that dress in half is going to be a good idea. Turns out that now I just have one less dress to wear.
X
5 stars!
I never really thought Trolls were creepy until I saw one disguised as Full House's Jodie Sweeney.
Troll Procreation: Violent troll bite incites magical slimy forests - complete with angry but somewhat trollmesticated fishhead men & caves full of squirmy hairy mini trolls.
Harry Potter is the main character. I'm not kidding.
How do you not notice a steamy troll garden in your laundry room? A musical, steamy, singing troll fern garden...
And why do I secretly wanna live there??
(Because I'll get to live with Julia Louis Dreyfuss & dance around with an ivy wreath on my head? Exactly.)
Your canary is a pod person from the planet Mars!!!
On a less random note.
I wish I was one of those people that can just modify their clothes and make them look hipper. I mean, sometimes I try.... and I always go into it, without thinking, but somehow convinced that all it's gonna take is a little snip chop tie wham bam - omygod I'm a fashion icon!
Nope. Turns out that impulsive scissoring of your clothes never makes it look better. I always think it will, I always think that this time - this one time! cutting that dress in half is going to be a good idea. Turns out that now I just have one less dress to wear.
X
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Herd management
Ring. Ring. I pick up, Hello Nick. Lunch at the Harbor Cafe? Sure. My friend and I get there first. Packed. After 10 minutes of standing in the queue, Nick and another friend arrive. Nick manages to wait a total of 1 minute and 29 seconds. "How many tables are there before us?" I shrug. "I counted ten." Nick looks around, "How's that table over there? A few seconds later we are all seated at a nice table located off to the side. Shortly a drink server appears. Drinks are ordered. Bloody Mary please. The waiter arrives. "Did the hostess seat you?" Nick glances up- "Sure." The server walks off. A few minutes later, the hostess shuffles over. "I didn't seat you." Nick looks at her. "We got tired of waiting." "Oh are you guys Judy, party of four?" Nick smiles slightly- "Sure." The hostess scolds us for not coming when called. We all nod... sorry. Our friend the waiter reappears. Everyone orders. I hear my name being called out by the hostess. I see a disgruntled female customer that might be a "Judy" arguing with the hostess. Soon enough, the hostess returns with the waiter. "Are you guys Carl, party of four?" We look around. The hostess glares at us, "Judy's here and she's not very happy." I grin, the jig is up. "Yeah I'm Carl." The waiter shrugs, "Oh, OK that's fine." Nick tells them to seat Judy and her friends with us. Simple solution. I ponder how many times he's done this. Probably every time. Nick doesn't seem to be the type that waits in lines. I wonder if there is a lesson in this. Probably.
<(")
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