Hi. I'm Ken. I like green tea, organic maki rolls and daily showers.
SML won a big 'ol competition this afternoon so we went out to the Cheesecake Factory at the Prudential Center to celebrate. I took this picture as we were walking home, taking a detour through the Church of Christ Scientist grounds. I particularly like this part of the city, from Massachusetts Avenue all the way into Copley Square.
I needed to go downtown this afternoon and I made sure to bring along my camera. It's something I've been trying to do when I go out, have even had long uninteresting arguments with SML about it, so I put it at the top of my list today: BRING THE CAMERA OR ELSE. Unfortunately, I was so caught up in remembering to bring the camera that I forgot my keys and locked myself out of my apartment.
During one of my time-wasting daily web browsing activities, I read that the more you take your camera with you, the more people will get used to you having it and not think you're weird. Last friday I took that advice and strapped my camera around my shoulder just before SML and I stepped out to the Museum of Science, one of my "Cheap Thrills" activities for the day. SML stopped me asking, "Do you really want to take that camera with you to the club later?"
We argued about this back and forth a bit, with SML noting that the person he thinks about who brings a camera to a club is some old fart from Salt Lake City. I countered with something like, "You bring your glasses with you to the club so you can see, and you're not a pervert!" I realize now that statement doesn't make any sense, but I think I was trying to make the point that I wasn't actually going to take pictures inside the club, or really of anyone at the club. See? No...? Bah.
SML and I are generally asleep by 10:00 p.m., so this was the first time going out since we've been living in Boston. SML insisted that we have to make friends, so I left the camera at home agreeing it might not make the best first impression.
Later that night at the "club" where no one danced, I had myself a couple of Dirty Gin's. This is something I'll do when I feel uncomfortable, to feel more comfortable, but it always backfires because I'll always want to talk about Barbara Walters, or Diane Sawyer and how they're the authorities on everything. At one point I confused Kathy Griffin with Kathy Lee Gifford and kept saying how much I hated her on the Today Show. SML was even agreeing with me until we noticed the crowd of distorted faces and the repeated, "HOW CAN YOU HATE KATHY GRIFFIN?" questions.
I excused myself at some point to use the restroom and returned to find SML with a new crowd. The crowd would grow larger when people were introduced as, "This is gay Mormon too!" The night basically ended for me right then, personal problems really, because I felt threatened by the gay mormons invading my turf. It was probably a mistake to tell SML all of this, because he gave me the look that spells c-r-a-z-y as we were leaving.
Walking to the subway SML asked, "Did you see that guy taking pictures?"
I had to be honest. "Yes. He looked like a pervert."
The snow continues to fall in these parts and I continue to act like it's the end of days. I took this picture yesterday morning and it continued to snow well into the afternoon. I talked myself into going outside around five o'clock because I've been wanting a new book. I actually think it's warm now, if you can believe that, that twenty-five degrees is what I'm now considering pleasant. The last couple of weeks the temperature has been the lowest I think I've ever experienced and I'm convinced that if SML hadn't been buying groceries I'd have starved to death.
I'm exaggerating, I probably wouldn't be dead. Thinner, probably. After we got off the subway yesterday at Kenmore I told SML how lovely I thought the weather was now that it had stopped snowing and that the cold temperature wasn't really bothering me. SML replied, "That's because everything is nice when you're in a better part of the city." And just then, a large truck rushed by and splashed a wall of mud and slush onto my left side and all over my exposed neck. I laughed, loudly actually, but inside I was totally scheming a move to Los Angeles where it will be eighty degrees today. Can you even @$!#$%#!$ believe that.
I picked up this Pinocchio at a Christmas Market in Germany when SML and I were there last December. It has quickly become one of my favorite Pinnocchios and I've been moving him around from shelf to shelf to find the right spot. I have too much time on my hands, obviously.
The real reason I posted this picture is because I've been trying all night to focus on a subject and have the background blur when I take a photograph. There's probably a technical word for what I just described but as luck would have it, the photography class I want to take is full this semester. It will probably be awhile before I feel ashamed to say things like, "that red focus dot" and "that turny thing that makes things clear."
SML and I missed Boston's first snow storm this year because of travel, so when it started snowing last night the only thing I could think about was taking pictures of Charlotte in the snow. I also thought about impending doom throughout the storm, of course, and what would happen if the power went out and whether not I could convince myself to stay in a community shelter to stay warm. I even thought about what clothes I would wear to the shelter, which t-shirt has faded enough to garner the most sympathy from whomever might be divvying up food rations.
Since we arrived in Boston last summer, Charlotte has been staring longingly out of our windows, occasionally barking at squirrels and birds. I say barking because she is definitely not meowing when she makes strange repetitive chirping noises out the window, as if she's trying to communicate that she intends to break through the glass at any given moment.
When we finally took her outside this morning I thought she'd at least step onto the ground, make a run for it, something besides meow frantically and climb on top of SML's back. She would have nothing to do with the snow or the cold air, and kept looking back towards the door, perhaps measuring whether or not she could make it back inside if she jumped.
Which is really how I feel when I see the snow, like I would do anything not to have to be in it. In the back of my mind I begin counting how many packages of Top Ramen I have in the cupboard and how I might have someone do my grocery shopping for free. But what would really be ideal is an over-the-counter drug that would knock me out until spring, something like Vick's NyQuil Hibernation, the so you can skip winter medicine.
I went out and bought these new shoes at the City Sports down the street a couple of weeks ago. These were one of the first pairs of shoes I picked up exclaiming to SML, "These shoes are so hipster!" SML's face appeared bloated at that statement, like he might barf into the nearest garbage can and then began mentioning repeatedly that the shoes were lime green.
Maybe it's the new year, but I feel a strong desire to be hipster. It could also be that I live in Allston and I keep seeing these fantastic people walking about with patterned hoodies, pink shoes, blinding white hair and my most favorite of all, skinny jeans. I would consider buying skinny jeans if I weren't getting so fat, an issue I'll likely confront in the coming months as I nearly began crying this evening when I told SML how many cookies I ate this afternoon.
SML tried to talk to me about the "fat" issue and I told him he wouldn't really understand, that there are a million things jammed up in my head right now and nothing is really coherent. "Just say whatever is on your mind", he said, like there was enough time in the evening to go over how every little ripple of fat on my body makes me feel. I took SML up on his offer and explained, "It's just, I feel so bad for Oprah."
The frown on SML's face after that statement was really something, if you could have seen it you would have thought that he'd just witnessed a blatant mathematical error. I began washing the dishes at that point, making disgusted ticking noises with my tongue to say, "You skinny people just don't get it."
SML and I ventured across the river this afternoon to see the museum at MIT. I hardly ever want to go to Cambridge unless it's to go to a shopping mall, but that may soon change because the view of the city is incredible. SML commented that looking at the city in this way makes him glad to be in Boston, but all of that changes once we enter Allston. That statement couldn't be more true, because Allston is a serious downer. That's bad. But there are a lot of hipster stores in Allston. That's good.
I planned out my New Year's Eve well in advance, purchasing Boston's First Night buttons prior to the thirty-first and mapping out the stops I'd make throughout the day. SML and I did a fairly good job at navigating our way to the Courthouse Silver Line stop on our way to the Museum of Contemporary Art, but a few minutes in a blizzard was all it took to send us back onto the bus.
We ended up at a movie theater, waiting out the storm, ruining my plans. My real plan of the day was to see the ice sculptures at Boston Common and Copley Square, a desire I cannot explain because if you asked I couldn’t tell you a thing about the ice sculptures: Who created them, what the hell are they even are or mean.
After the movie I made SML trek through the snow with me to see the sculptures, first through the park, then to Copley Square. It was the highlight of the night, unless you count SML’s dirty glass at the Daily Grill. It was exhausting because I couldn’t focus on anything until I had seen the sculptures. I wouldn’t dare ask SML how much I talked about wanting to see them because it might remind him of that time I couldn’t stop talking about salt water taffy, and the long drive to the Cape that followed.
It’s strange to say, but I felt totally satisfied after seeing those sculptures, like I’d just removed a loose eyelash from someone’s face. There’s probably a support group for people like me, but it scares me to think about a room full of people picking hairs off of other people’s faces.