It's hot in the poor places tonight
I am completely anamored with the backwards, drunken college community that is Boston. Admittedly, Emmanuel can be frustrating and soul-crushing at times, but it's worth all the trouble.

I love that almost anywhere I want to be is a walk away. Even long journeys to Cambridge seem brief. If I could, I would never operate or own a motor vehicle again. (But that's obviously not practical, as the chances of me being able to afford the cost of living here post-graduation are fairly slim)


My weekend was a literal breath of fresh air after months of mud, snow, and rain. I woke up Saturday morning to a barrage of sunlight and was initially baffled instead of overjoyed. After all, how is my tiny brain that's so accostomed to dim light and clouds supposed to react to bright rays of sunshine?
I ended up traveling back to the South Shore that morning with Pat Ryan to take care of errands. My mother and I went dress hunting for Pat's (O'Brien) prom at Twice as Nice. I loved the first one I tried on, marking my first large success of the weekend.
Upon returning to Satucket Ave., I inquired about job opportunities at the Ocean Bluff Packet. Sue informed me that there is no need to submit an application because they know me and already have all of my information. Carol (the woman in charge of hiring) was not there to tell me concretely whether I landed a solid position or not, but I was essentially told that I would have first pick of jobs provided that they have sufficient hours to give me. (Which I'm almost certain they do). Triumph number two!
After a long nap with my slutcat in my comfy Marshfield bed, Pat and I ventured back to Emmanuel to hang out. The rest of the night was comprised primarily of cuddling, walking to and from Allston, beer, hardcore music, gas leaks, and cigarettes. I'd wager that there's nothing better.
The quality of my weekend continued to improve as I once again woke up at school to the sun and sounds of merriment from the quad. It was seventy degrees out. I thought I would explode with happiness. In celebration, Beth, her friend, and I walked ot the Middle East in Cambridge so they could get some tickets. We were so proud of our navigation and walking skills that we got ambitious and walked another mile or two to Harvard Square for ice cream. They soon tired of sitting around and being lethargic and left me in the middle of the square to people watch.
I spent two hours sitting next to the earthiest man you'll ever find in an urban sprawl. He had been there for hours prior to my arrival, smoking American Spirits and whittling tiny birds with a carving knife. Crunchy-outdoors man kept mainly to himself, except for the occasional dry quip about all of the Anime Boston people walking around in cat ears and make-up. I think my favorite comment was, "You know you've been hanging out in Harvard Square when you forget to look twice at people like this. I just assumed they were starting to fill in the Gay Clubs earlier than usual." So, as you can see, we're pretty much in the midst of a torrid love affair.
Just when I thought my day couldn't be any more satisfying, Mike and Brian proposed that we walk down the street to Fenway Park to loiter and see the action that is typically associated with a Red Sox v. Yankees game. I was expecting to check out some belligerent Boston fans, laugh, and then leave. However, our arrival coincided with a streak of four incredible homeruns that gave the Sox the lead. The last ball had arched over the walls of Fenway and onto the corner of Yawkey Way and Brookline into the unwitting lap of some dude on the street. His incredoulous reaction was priceless.
I don't even enjoy baseball very much, but it's hard not to become emotionally invested in the Red Sox when you're standing outside of the bar right on the park with hundreds of people, including Japanese tourists and journalists, waiting with baited breath to see the outcome of Dice-K's latest pitch.
If you can't get into that groove, you probably have lead pumping through your veins. That, or you aren't nearly as excitable as I get over things like that. Small, furry mammals have the same effect on me. (Perhaps my opinion can't be considered objective or valuable on that front, then.)

Warm weather infuses me with all this naive hope and happiness again. Suddenly it doesn't matter that college costs tens of thousands of dollars per year, nor does it matter that I am motivationless, directionless, and without talent. It's going to be 80 degrees tomorrow, which means I'm going to lay on the quad, read books, and accumulate even more freckles. I can contemplate the ramifications of my actions and decisions later.