My downstairs neighbors are stomping around in steel-toed boots, slamming doors and cackling, yelling "What I want right now is Chowda!" over and over again in a forced Boston accent. The music hasn't started yet, but I'm certain it will at any moment.
I'm spending my evening at home alone, something I was looking forward to, but, now that it's here, I'm feeling too tired and deflated to really enjoy it. A long busy week, a party last night for Stef's birthday at which I stayed unwisely late, yesterday's long and involved political conversations that left me hollow and frustrated, and, of course, other things. Aha! The music just started. It would've been nice to have been wrong about that.
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FROM THE ARCHIVES:  
People We Like. I've got a new photo in The Morning News: the co-owners of Frank White, an unusual coffee shop in my neighborhood. — 07.17.08 Charles Atlas will make a man of you! "Against Atlas' better judgment, I declined performing all of my exercises in the nude." (accompanying shirtless photo of the author taken by me.) — 07.17.08 Cat on a Leash. I am totally buying a leash for Coleman asap. — 06.25.08 The Brooklynites. Great photos of a wide range of people from my favorite borough. (Thanks to Kurt [a talented photographer himself] for passing this on.) — 12.19.07 Killer Boob. My childhood (and current!) friend Sarah talks about her experience with breast cancer on her well written and charming blog. She's an American living in Belgium and happens to be one of the best people I know. — 12.19.07 |
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