Day 121: Zu x 2

 Something I have often viewed as a double-edged sword is the 2a.m. curfew Cambridge has imposed on its drinking establishments.  It seems crazy early, except that in the end one is very happy one has gone home by at least 2:30 and gotten some sleep.  Except for those nights where you manage to work around the curfew somehow... like tonight.

Long days have recently become the norm, and after work, I picked up my usual duo of E. and D., and also grabbed BNap as an addition to our car-ful to Georgetown.  Tonight was our first time not only off-book but also off-prompter, meaning that we were to wing it if we flubbed on lines.  Honestly, it wasn't half-bad.  We ran through the whole play, which is also rare, and so were quite late getting back into Cambridge. D-Money still being in town, we made sure that he and a small contingency were prepped for our weekly stint at the Asgard, and I managed to sneak one song in - "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" -- my first attempt at Stevie, and it went over well.

Most were too tired to carry on at all, but somehow it was decided that for D-Money and me, the party would go on.  A few moments with Chicken Slacks and the 'Tab was about to close, but ZuZu saved the day and we bonded over a quick beer there.  The night went on to included attempts at throwing old bicycles into the garbage can in front of my house (see above) and jamming with the pre-set midi files on my old-school Casio keyboard.  Just another night in Central Square.

Day 117: Suburban foraging

Sunday practices in Georgetown are now a regular part of the week, and I find it quite relaxing to get up on the early side for a Sunday, pop into Toscanini's for a coffee top-up, and swing by to grab various members of the crew for the drive up 93 and 95.  On the occasions when D. is with us, these mornings often bring foraged goodies into our lives during Act 1 (his character only shows up in the middle of Act 2).  Today we were in for a treat - may apples.  Rumor has it they are somewhat elusive and difficult to find around the Cambridge area, though apparently the suburbs of Georgetown were more forgiving; fact has it they are extraordinarily sweet. To eat them, you squeeze and suck out the juicy innards, which are so saccharine they remind me of Gushers (those things are like crack).

Treat #2 of the day was that the old-school members of the GTW (see the sign behind the may apples in the above pic?) were throwing a picnic complete with swimming pool and bocce ball (which S., our director, and I threw down at).  I could only stay for a bit because I had to high-tail it back to Cambridge to get to the second practice for the Mercury Orchestra chorus, which was being held at the Masonic Lodge in Porter Square.  So neat all the places being in this group is showing us!

The afternoon was complete with a bit more urban foraging in the form of nabbing some peaches (and pears, I believe) en route to a friend's place for dinner, where others had foraged some mushrooms for dining (S.B. made an amazing casserole with chicken mushrooms - was to die for).  Rounding out the evening with some guitar sing-along-ing made it a pretty much perfect Sunday.

Day 86: The Importance of Being A Local

Nothing makes you feel more like a local than coming back and feeling more comfortable in your own skin in the city you live in than in the place you came from.  This happens to me whether I'm coming back from my home town in Indiana, my family's stomping grounds in West Virginia, or (in this case), a mountain in New Hampshire.  Was so tired after the trip yesterday that I managed to spend the entire afternoon in bed finishing the second season of Downton Abbey followed by crashing pre-midnight through to the next morning.

Today was simple: work, rehearse for play with E. at S's place (director-on-two-of-us so that we could do scene focus), at then meet up with my roommate and a friend of ours who had also been up for the weekend in NH at a bar/restaurant near my place (Miracle of Science).  This now makes the 4th or 5th time in a row that I did not get carded at MoS.  For some reason, I have an irrational hatred of being carded.  At worst, it means that if you forgot your ID (which I don't), you have to go get it or talk someone into just letting you in -- and at best, it's a compliment that you look young.  But I hate it.  Typically if I'm there with older folks (than me), not getting carded is the norm, but recently it's been because I _am_ the older folk -- and I like it.  Was there a few days ago w/ J. and M. and arrived early, ordered beer, no carding.  Then when J. and M. arrive and order food in addition to beer -- they get carded.  Tonight, I arrived to meet V. and G-Dog after they were eating.  V's passport was out on the table -- but still no carding for me.  And that, friends, is the importance of being local.

All of this is still a diversion to say that I am going to miss this place a ton.

Day 78: Public Garden

Well.  The weather has finally returned to the beautiful Bostonian summer climate we all know and love.  Highs of 75, balmy evenings, sweet breezes. In the morning when I walk to my car I'm greeted by little petals falling from some of the trees, kids' laughter, and a stray chirper or two.  Sometimes I have to remind myself that it's a perfectly fine endeavour not to be on the "go" all the time, and just to enjoy these things.

During our break at Calliope rehearsal this evening, we seemed to hit that perfect moment of twilight, extended in the summer, where all the greens of the trees seem to be nearly glowing, and a friend had the brilliant idea of taking a short walk during the 15 minutes we had.  Though I had spent every Tuesday evening last summer in this same spot at rehearsal, it did not once cross my mind to walk the fifty paces to the public garden next door.  So tonight, we wandered over for a bit, with barely enough time to make it across the footbridge and back, and it's something I wish to repeat.  I always forget that next to Boston Common (which is nice, but not breathtaking), there is a nicely landscaped area around the pond in the public garden.  It's really quite different.  I think the first time I checked it out in earnest was when J. was visiting from Oregon a few years ago.  Why is it that so often it takes a visitor for us to be tourists in our own city?  I'll have to remember this advice to myself once I move to San Diego.