Talk may be cheap, but some people pay dearly for it

I was taking a bus out to Arlington. Past jogging baby boomers - fully decked-out in pro gear - and African instrument shops. Two guys got on the bus and saw a woman one of them knew. In a raspy and too-sassy voice, he quipped, "Taking luxury transportation, huh?" Polite laugh from her. He also introduced his friend (Nicholas). The two guys continued to talk about Prohibition as a precedent for the legalization of pot, and other banal topics, peppered with anecdotes from the Qing Dynasty and other shit like that. When all three of them got off at their mutual apartment, the woman looked eager to head in the opposite direction, no matter where it led her.

These guys were all talk. I don't think I need to know much more about them to intuit that. Cozy jobs, dinner parties with good wine, and lots and lots of talk. Sure, I'm being judgmental here... but my judgment of them is irrelevant; it's the result itself that matters, and insofar as it should serve as a warning: not to let one's life be run by talk. Talk can be a good technique to facilitate, reinforce, and energize other aspects of life, but in and of itself... not enough. By itself, talk only serves the most inauthentic aspects of existence... and what I want most right now is to live. 

...

I had some of these thoughts in mind when I set out the following Friday evening. Took the T out to Green Street in J.P., for an opening at the Cyberarts Gallery, based partly on Juliet Schor's The Overworked American (one of the most sobering analyses of the state of capitalism as it now stands; recommended). The pieces were cool and fun - nothing too subversive or incendiary, but enjoyable within the schema. I had a glass of Cabernet and some nut mix. Went to the Purple Cactus for an awesome wrap - portabello mushrooms, baby spinach, brown rice, goat cheese, and balsamic vinaigrette - and then over to Blanchard's for a bottle of Cab to go.

Met Marie at Green Street and we went to Spectacle, an art loft nearby, for a visual slideshow. I love that place - there are lamps everywhere... lots of cool rugs too. It was packed, and we missed the music, but the slideshow played on a loop, and the images looked really cool. We mostly hung out with one of the artists, a guy named Justin. Drank wine and ate nut mix.

I had had a really hard time earlier that evening deciding between going to Spectacle and going to Radio in Union Square to see the Blue Bloods, one of my favorite local bands. At a certain point - on the corner of a big chair in Spectacle at about 10:30pm - Marie and I thought we might be able to do both. We hoofed it to Sullivan Square to wait for a bus to Union. Had a half an hour to kill, so we drank wine at the bus stop, surprisingly desserted. Still desserted a half hour later, in fact, when I finally noticed the sign that said the bus picked up on the upper level that time of night. We dashed on up and jumped on it. 

Got to Radio after midnight, just after the Blue Bloods started, and just late enough that the nice doorman waived the cover charge(!). The show was actually downstairs, which is known as Moe's, which looks just like the basement of an Elk's Lodge, wood panels and all. We drank tallboys and the band played an awesome set. (We conveniently walked in during "Losing Streak," which had been in my head for days prior.) Pesky, Jamie, and Matt were there, and we were all happy to see one another. Not coincidentally, Marie and I left late to catch the T. Took the long way too, accidentally. When we got to Central Square, a guy walked out of the station informing us that we'd just missed the last one. 

Without thinking too much, we went down the street to the Middle East Corner, where there happened to be a great band playing old soul songs. It was almost too loud to talk, but there wasn't much to say anyway... just dancing and living it, ya know?