in medias res

To Know Better

When I used to stay home from school, I remember the slow fade between dreams and awake to the sounds of the Smurfs, The Price is Right, and Webster. Today, I left work early to half-sleep through Bernie Mac, infomercials for great hits of the 70s and The Little Giant, and C-SPAN. I almost ordered The Little Giant “for only four easy payments of $89.99…and, if you order now, free shipping!” I used to wonder if the infomercial companies had to always know when and where they were being shown to see if they could offer “free _______ now” to whomever was on the phone based on their geography. I know better now. By the way, my stay on the couch and this cold-medicine induced blog entry is brought to you by my attempt at thriftiness. I wanted to save money so I cut off the heat in my apartment; I thought I could soldier my way through it because it's Florida. I definitely know better now.

Back to where we left off - I love Boston. I smiled politely when everyone told me that I would. Boston is notoriously cold and rude – both of which make me crabby. But I loved Boston. Our flight arrived forty minutes early, and we attempted to take the world’s best public transportation system into the city. The Boy researched the route and had our plan memorized, but we hit construction at Park Street and had to lug our suitcases up several flights of stairs and into several overcrowded shuttle buses. Rather, the Boy lugged. I attempted to argue back in my best women’s-lib, I-made-my-bed-now-I-have-to-sleep-in-it voice, but I also didn’t want to make a scene. He valiantly lugged and I felt sheepish about my big red suitcase. I'm not used to letting people help me. Finally, our lovely hosts drove through the icy streets and rescued us from the detours. The blizzard the day before left everything in a thick layer of white cold. Our hosts were brilliant snow drivers. I think I want to move to a big city just so I can have an intelligent, “you do NOT want to take MLK between 4 and 6. Take a left on 6^th, and a right on Tribune” conversation and know how to find the good parking spots. I want to be that kind of cool.

After we dug out a parking spot (and fought off a dude who tried to show us up with his fancy metal shovel), our first stop and main concern for the weekend was food. We went to an old firehouse for tasty thin crust, froo-froo pizza and beer. J-girl and I walked through the city while J-boy and the Boy sat at the restaurant where he works and watched basketball. I liked the cold. I liked that I had to kick my shoes against a wall before I walked into a building and I liked that we had to hold onto each other to not fall on the ice.

The chronology of the rest of the trip is fuzzy because it felt like a string of Saturdays and food and sights. While our hosts worked, the Boy and I explored the city. He had spent some time in Boston (and most big cities in the US) when he worked for his fraternity after college, so he knew the area. He had been planning our itinerary for weeks, and it was beautiful to have someone share my excitement for travel. We went to the MFA, the Freedom Trail, Fanueil Hall, the Old North Church, Harvard Square…We had a few big meals that I can never match – an Italian restaurant in the North End of town, a restaurant where they served sushi on boats, and the best cheeseburger I will ever taste in a small restaurant that caters to MIT. I eventually stopped wondering if I was walking next to an intellectual rockstar in normal clothes. After all, there’s no magical aura around the people who get into these big name schools.

We spent a large part of Sunday at the Bizarre Bazaar, where independent vendors arrive with their melted-record bowls, homemade purses and notebooks, kitsch-y decorations, and small business cards, and Boston stands in line for hours to purchase it. I almost bought a bag that said “Sexy, Sexy Bicycle”, but I couldn’t justify it. While some of these crafts could have been made at home, Boston wanted to reward these artists for their ingenuity. I really dug that. Every dollar we spent in Boston went to independent vendors and restaurants or towards art. We spent hours in used bookstores. I spent too much money that I didn’t have, but I felt good about the people I supported.

Now, I never really saw myself as a consumer activist; I still shop at the Gap. But I like feeling good about my purchases. Maybe it’s the strangled-artist within me that wants desperately for art to always be valued. But this person also comes up against the grad-student-on-a-stipend who really cannot afford to be a philanthropist now. My conundrum.

Anyway, it was nice to flow so effortlessly between serious conversation and goofy moments for those few days. I didn’t always feel like I had to talk or had to impress anybody. I appreciated these people for how beautiful and unique they all are. I started to miss college and the things we would do when we had nothing to do. It’s easy to forget how good friends can be. I wonder if I’ll always miss those days and the conversations that lasted until sunrise. And I wonder if I'll be brave enough to make those connections with people here.

And I think I should stop now before the nostalgia/cold medicine really kicks in and all of my hopes and dreams are vomited onto the page. I need to turn savor these rare moments by myself that seem so full of potential. And yesterday, I bought a book to teach me to play guitar...

posted by tara @ 7:19 PM