I awoke to the sunrise without an alarm and knew that today would bring me something special. After checking my daily computer crap while grabbing a bowl of cereal and a banana, I took the Netflix down to the mailbox and saw that there were a couple of pairs of women's shoes at my door.
Before we get too excited, I'll inform you that my roommate Sam had his friends and their dog over last night, all of whom found a way to occupy his bedroom. If you try to stay with me, there's no such abundance of space where I sleep. Both pair of shoes belong to a married woman who was here with her husband. NEXT.
After some personal deliberation and an episode of Entourage, I set out for Trader Joe's and the Puma store to get wine, cashews, sneakers, and a work bag. What I found when I got there blew my mind.
First off, I arrived in the Back Bay area around 9:45am and realized I'd beaten most of the store openings. Enter Starbucks. After waiting in line a few minutes, a girl poked her head above the baked goods counter and asked if she could help me. "I have a very complicated order for you," was my response. I could see in worry in her face and that of the barista next to her. "I need a small decaf coffee."
After drinking about half the coffee outside where it was about 50 degrees and gloriously sunny, I set off on my shopping expedition down the marvelous Newbury Street. I really had no idea what to expect, but found everything that I thought Downtown Crossing should have been. Every kind of awesome, elitist shop I could think of was nestled into two blocks of brick buildings with small uniform signs hanging all the way down. This led me to the Army/Navy store, and after about 15 minutes contemplating bags I settled on a perfect gray paratrooper bag with a red star on it.
Across the street to Puma, I found a matching pair of gray and red sneakers that were the sort of thing I had been dreaming of. Anyone who knows me knows I don't just go 2-for-2 shopping like this. Usually I don't find anything I like, which is why I hate shopping. The sneakers were also cheaper than I thought they'd be, which made the purchase easy.
There was a Best Buy on the corner. Being recently single, my DVD player is still in Syracuse at someone else's house. I'm not about to quabble over $30, so I bought a new one and can now watch my Netflix on Osei's killer television. Sold. 3-for-2, batting 1.500 for those of you keeping score at home.
What the heck, there's an Urban Outfitters across the street. Might as well stop in and see if they have any cool t-shirts on the sale rack.
G.I.JOE
I now own a shirt featuring Flint, Lady Jaye, and Roadblock. Go home. I win.
At Trader Joe's, which was actually my first stop, I got the cashews but not the wine, as that particular store doesn't have a license to sell it. Looks like I'll have to make a special trip for 3-buck-Chuck on Tuesday. Oh well, 5 items ain't a bad haul any day.
Wow, now that you're sleeping and the boring details of my shopping excursion have come to a close, maybe I shouldn't bother you with the details of the crazy Bostonian who sat across from me on the bus and proceeded to talk to me about land rents and good old boy networks for the entire 15-minute ride home. Or the drum troop that was wailing away and parading down Centre Street mere blocks from my house as I was walking home from the bus. Or the pile of people waiting for breakfast outside Sorella's. That's pretty common. Heh. We've reached noon, which means your day may just be starting. Good luck.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Would you do this to your parents?
My parents came into town this weekend. Normally, I guess you'd play it safe. Easy travel from here to there and nice little tourist sorts of things and nice safe meals. Didn't happen this time. Mom and Dad got a Boo Guy Show experience.
Friday night, after they braved the horrors of driving into Boston, I took them to the Cuban restaurant on the corner. It took over a half an hour to get a table, and then another 15 minutes after that until we even had water. They were out of the Friday pork plate special #1, so my dad and I wound up with a crazy pork roll instead. Congris, fried plantains, yuca, Asian vegetables, juice smoothies instead of wine and manhattans...
By the time we got all the loot from home up to my 3rd story apartment, they were ready to head back to the hotel. Fast-forward to 11:20am Saturday:
Mom and Dad are waiting at the T stop when I roll up on the 39 bus. We head to the heart of Boston on a trolley filled with friendly college students, one of whom is wearing a t-shirt with a hammer and sickle and Karl Marx with a lampshade on his head. Another one gives my mom an eyeglass case as he hops off. When we finally get to Park Street, we are greeted by the unmistakable Subway Smell and then pass a couple of senior citizens hobbling up the stairs to street level. Ouch. I thought my knees were bad.
I proceed to hike them through Downtown Crossing, over the bridge into Southie where I work, back to South Station for a pizza lunch, up Atlantic Avenue to the harbor where we see plenty of ocean water and Chris Pfohl, through some more of the monstrously tall financial district, to the old state house for roasted cashews and buskers, Faneiul Hall and Quincy Market where we see a living statue and a man who folds himself into a pretzel, and grab a beer. After that, it's back down to Boston Common and the Public Garden, where we spend an hour and a half. By this point, I think I've hobbled about 3 miles on a bum knee.
What else can you do with a day in Boston but hop a bus whose destination is Roxbury? Of course, the bus drops us off a block past where the map says it will, so we take our weary legs an extra circuitous 4 blocks through some low-income territory, but eventually end up at Gaslight Brasserie, where we attempt to order food from French menus we can't read. We wind up with excellent pasta and pizza and really expensive drinks.
After that, I nab my first Boston Cab ride, which is considerably cheaper than I thought a Boston cab would be. I leave Mom and Dad to the hotel around 8:00PM and retire to my abode in JP where I am dead asleep by 10:00PM. You know that if a young guy like me is out that early, it's been a day. They left for home this morning. Rock and roll.
In short, your parents can take it. Give 'em the works when they come to visit.
Friday night, after they braved the horrors of driving into Boston, I took them to the Cuban restaurant on the corner. It took over a half an hour to get a table, and then another 15 minutes after that until we even had water. They were out of the Friday pork plate special #1, so my dad and I wound up with a crazy pork roll instead. Congris, fried plantains, yuca, Asian vegetables, juice smoothies instead of wine and manhattans...
By the time we got all the loot from home up to my 3rd story apartment, they were ready to head back to the hotel. Fast-forward to 11:20am Saturday:
Mom and Dad are waiting at the T stop when I roll up on the 39 bus. We head to the heart of Boston on a trolley filled with friendly college students, one of whom is wearing a t-shirt with a hammer and sickle and Karl Marx with a lampshade on his head. Another one gives my mom an eyeglass case as he hops off. When we finally get to Park Street, we are greeted by the unmistakable Subway Smell and then pass a couple of senior citizens hobbling up the stairs to street level. Ouch. I thought my knees were bad.
I proceed to hike them through Downtown Crossing, over the bridge into Southie where I work, back to South Station for a pizza lunch, up Atlantic Avenue to the harbor where we see plenty of ocean water and Chris Pfohl, through some more of the monstrously tall financial district, to the old state house for roasted cashews and buskers, Faneiul Hall and Quincy Market where we see a living statue and a man who folds himself into a pretzel, and grab a beer. After that, it's back down to Boston Common and the Public Garden, where we spend an hour and a half. By this point, I think I've hobbled about 3 miles on a bum knee.
What else can you do with a day in Boston but hop a bus whose destination is Roxbury? Of course, the bus drops us off a block past where the map says it will, so we take our weary legs an extra circuitous 4 blocks through some low-income territory, but eventually end up at Gaslight Brasserie, where we attempt to order food from French menus we can't read. We wind up with excellent pasta and pizza and really expensive drinks.
After that, I nab my first Boston Cab ride, which is considerably cheaper than I thought a Boston cab would be. I leave Mom and Dad to the hotel around 8:00PM and retire to my abode in JP where I am dead asleep by 10:00PM. You know that if a young guy like me is out that early, it's been a day. They left for home this morning. Rock and roll.
In short, your parents can take it. Give 'em the works when they come to visit.
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