Tying up the shoes

It's been over a month since I've written on here. I'd like to up that frequency quite a bit, primarily just by writing shorter entries, as opposed to storing up a month's worth of thoughts and experiences in order to write some epic passage that's only cohesive in the most tangential of paths. (Posts from here on out will likely still be tangential, but shorter.) But first, to excuse myself for not writing much lately, let me illustrate my last Friday night.

Even before that, the background: I'm living in Quincy (though up until the past couple of weeks, I had been going back and forth between here, Vermont, and Maine, pretty often, for various weddings and visits with family), and I'm enjoying it. However, I've noticed that I am much less social and less likely to leave the neighborhood than I ever have been before while living in Boston. I'm aware of this, and it's not a bad thing. Part of the reason, in fact, is good: I live in a little house with my friends Jeremy and Dan, and we hang out a lot, talking, listening to music, watching movies, eating, and reading. Because of this, and because it takes me longer to get into Boston or Cambridge or Somerville, I'm much less likely to leave the house or hood. (The neighborhood includes several grocery stores, Atlas Liquors, the Old Railroad Cafe, No. 7 Restaurant (Chinese and Malaysian) and Paddy Barry's pub.)

In the midst of writing this, I got hungry. So I went for a walk to No. 7 to beat the lunchtime cut-off and save myself two bucks (and get a free soup). Walking down Copeland Street during the day is an interesting experience. Lots of dudes hanging out, in groups or singly, on stoops and lawns, both sides of the street, all races and creeds, speaking a variety of languages. I wouldn't call most of them "sketchy," just peculiar, curious. And it makes me awfully curious to know what they're up to at two in the afternoon, all congregated on front steps. Take one of the buildings on the block before No. 7, for example. On my way there, a guy with a big, bushy mustache and flight jacket is pacing out front, on the sidewalk. Then another guy hurriedly walks out of the building in athletic shorts and a tank top (and it was cold today), talking rapidly on his cell, and walking toward the parking lot. From the lot comes a third guy, with baseball cap and track jacket, walking even faster than the other two. On my way back from No. 7, the first two guys are standing out in front of the building. The third, cap-and-track-jacket, is speed-walking down the street. Then he picks up the pace to one of those speedy jogs you do when you're crossing the street in front of cars. Then he literally starts bounding, the rest of the short distance to the 7-11. All the while, shorts-and-tank keeps repeating a three-digit number on his cell (who knows?). By the time I catch up to cap-and-track-jacket, he is hiking up his pants (from the bounding), then tying his shoes, and about to turn around. He didn't even go inside the store. I literally have no idea what these guys were up to (a relay race?)... but you can imagine the fun in guessing.

So anyway, Friday night... by the way, there isn't much of a story here, and you'll see why... Jeremy was out, and Dan came home. I made a ham, Swiss, and honey Dijon sandwich, and then we went to Atlas for some beer and wine. We watched The Office (which I am slowly catching up on, season by season) on Netflix. Megan, Dan's girlfriend, was out in Quincy Center with some of her friends, so we decided to go meet her. Bad Abbots has apparently been renovated and "gone country" (or was this just for Halloween?), so we went to the Half Door. We got a table, got a pint, and had fun talking and dancing (rather ridiculously) at the table. Before long, it was last call. So back home, and at this point, I had three things I could partake of - Jeremy's excellent spinach lasagna, some Montepulciano, and of course, The Office - and the exclusion of any one of the three would've meant going to bed and getting a good night's sleep. Conversely, to choose any one of the three necessarily meant partaking of the other two as well. I don't remember the order, but it could've been this: "I think I'll watch one episode of The Office before bed. I feel like a snack; there's plenty of that lasagna left. You know what would go great with this? Montepulciano. Now I'm full, so I should probably watch a couple more episodes, so I can digest, before bed. That lasagna is so good, just one more plate...." You get the idea.

So I stayed up late on Friday, slept late on Saturday, and that's it. You and I both know that there are more productive ways for me to spend my time. But the fact that I do know this, and the act of putting it down in words right now, is what will allow me to make today so much more productive. I'm not even exactly sure how it works, but there's a circle of energy that allows me to act slovenly and passive on Friday night, realize it on Saturday, verbalize it on Monday afternoon, and "rectify" it on Monday evening. (Next, I go to the library to do some research, I get groceries, and I hit the net to try to find somebody else that will pay me for services rendered, pay me to make them happy so I can sustain myself. That's productivity, you know. You know?) And anyway, I don't regret the indulgence of late-Friday night, the triumvirate of lasagna-wine-The Office... That was three days ago, now immortalized, now gone forever. Today is Monday. Off to the library.

So much for writing shorter entries.