Tag Archives: boston blog

Would you go wiiiith me???

Welcome to the second installment of Throw-Back Song Fridays! Below is the 90s gem that plays in my head every morning when my alarm goes off.

Please listen to it. It’s amazing.

Listening to 5ive always reminds me of my friend Kate, because my friend Kate, like me, loves really really horrible music. Back in high school, where we met, all of our friends pretty much listened to the same, weird, shit—stuff like Dispatch and Led Zeppelin and uh, Phish.  I could stomach some of it, but a fourteen-year-old girl can only take so much noodling before she wants to put on some SheDAISY and lip-synch in front of the mirror. Thank God for Kate. Kate always came through for me. I could go into her bedroom at anytime of the night (we went to boarding school), turn off the lights on her while she was sitting on her bed in a trucker hat eating Fritos and strumming a ukulele, put “Oops!..I Did It Again” in her CD player, and before I knew it, private dance party. (We also did emo quite well; a pair of young women screaming “don’t you know you betta run, run, run, run, RUN!”  in the bathroom together has never sounded so beautiful.)

Kate lives in Los Angeles now. She is also the loudest person I know. I bring this up because sometimes I wonder if I could hear her telling a story from LA if I stuck my head out the window and tried hard enough. For real. I used to call her “The Chip” in high school because I thought she had a microphone lodged in her trachea when I first met her. But Kate is much more than just a loud voice—she knows how to work a room, too. She has weird, witch-like movie-star charm. Even if you are the only person in that room with her, and you’re just sitting on a couch watching Don’t Mess with The Zohan and eating Ritz crackers, Kate will work the shit of you.  Or at least herself, because she is also one of those people who laughs a lot at her own stories, and not like, a series of a amused little giggles at herself, but full-on belly-laughing at what she’s saying, slap the table, eyes-watering—she never ceases to find herself and her life incredibly amusing. Kate has a million friends and all of them, like me, think we’re DEFINITELY in the top two or three of her inner circle. There are legitimately forty-seven people out there who think this. Parties she throws often end in snap-offs.

After college, before Kate moved West and I moved…to Boston, Kate taught me how to drive. On a rainy December night in 2008, I took my driver’s test in Bruce, her recently departed Ford Focus that was always filled with random things like neon-green pipe cleaners and empty cans of seltzer and mix CDs of country music and trance disco and the odd tennis shoe. (Kate hearts clutter.) During the test, the cop actually had to turn around and yell at her for trying to mouth me the answers to his questions from the backseat. If I hadn’t already mentioned it, Kate is unfailingly loyal. There are very few friends who would give up their time to try to help someone like me learn how to do a three-point-turn in a high school parking lot at the age of twenty-three, but there she was, texting furiously and laughing the whole time, while unironically proclaiming that should have been running her own ad agency at this point. We spent many hours in that high school parking lot that winter, drinking cinnamon lattes and trying to avoid having me kill the track team. At the time, I was very much like “uh, what is HAPPENING in my life, this is like Garden State but not sexy” but of course I now miss it.

So…I miss you Kate, lover of life and music good and bad, who introduced me to this song and the glory of the “Jenny From The Block” station on Pandora, and who has never met a night out you didn’t dominate.

Happy Friday! The end.

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I mean I know it’s really sunny out, but…

regardless of the title, is this not perfect it’s-a-perfect-Friday-afternoon music?

 

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Ciao

When I was living in New York City I would walk by a pale green Vespa every day. It was always parked in the same spot on 77th street, and it was a beautiful little thing. Sometimes, depending on the time of day, I would see pretty German-looking people milling around it with coffees and nice looking sun-glasses. I really enjoyed this Vespa, and these pretty German-looking people. Not only were they easy on the eyes, but they were one of the small things that was consistent in my New York life, and so they became very neighboorhood-y to me—like, woop there’s there’s the homeless guy who lives outside the magazine store and bathes in the Starbucks; there’s the security guard smoking and humming and nodding his head at me as I pass with a plastic bag full of granola bars for lunch; and hey, there’s the beautiful pale green vespa glittering in the sun.

Well, anyHOO, I saw the green vespa today after work! I was just walking along and minding my own business and enjoying the delicious cool air we had today and I saw it and was like, Vessssspa! Is that youuuuu? You look so good! Where are your parents! I took out my camera to take a missing persons’ picture, took it (as you will see), and then three seconds later its owner came over—a pretty young girl in a straw hat, reeking of coolness. (I think it’s a requirement that you have to be REALLY fabulous to own a pale green Vespa.) I backed away asap to avoid major creepiness, but I still took another photo anyway. I think I even got the fabulous girl hugging her fabulous hipster friend good-bye.

Yay for Vespas!

And one day, when I live in Italy and bathe in bathtubs filled with raspberries, I will own one too.

xo

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Finally!

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That’s some good sax.

Glorious day in Boston. GLO-RI-OUS, in a Will Ferrell voice. A day for eating cold pasta and listening to Van.

Uh, this song is so North End. From the opening line, to all the images of hot men doing construction it brings to mind (whaaat?) and, of course, those horns. The North End in general is very 80s sax-like horn intense. There are always a lot of people walking around in ill-fitting acid-wash jeans like it’s 1984. I thoroughly enjoy it.

Things also on my mind:

Sun hats.
Bardot.

Yeah, just sun hats and Bridg….

Also, I wish I was blonde. Hmm, just now while writing this, I stretched my foot out and thought, “that feels weird, but strangely nice too…” A pool of sunlight on the carpet? Try I just stuck my entire foot in a plate of hummus.

Off to the sink. Happy Sunny Wednesday!

xo

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The Ground Meat Blues.

I’m so depressed. And it’s not because in my last yoga class the teacher called me out like fifteen times for not doing the correct move and was like, “no, no, do your antelope pose with your knee here Caroline!” and then tried to move my knee the five inches herself, which wouldn’t budge, and then we were just staring at each other in sadness for awhile and it was awkward. No, what makes me sad is the fact that I just went through a slideshow of the ten greatest burgers in Boston on Boston.com, and I’ve only had ONE of them! (And it was like five years ago!) How IS THIS POSSIBLE??? (And why are half of them fifty bucks??)

But man, do I love me some burgers. And, honestly, besides communists and vegetarians, who doesn’t? Burgers are so perfect. They’re summer. They’re ketchup. They look hot when they hook up with cheese. Sometimes I lay awake at night debating my true happy place: is it really good pizza and a Diet Coke, or a really good cheeseburger and a Diet Coke? So much tossing and turning, and I still haven’t figured it out. But it’s like, Leo? Or Tom Brady? THEY’RE DIFFERENT THINGS OKAY.

Like most people, I grew up going to sketchy fast-food places as a treat. My mom would take us a few times a month after soccer practice if we begged hard enough—mmm, shin guards and Big Macs—and my father would take my brother and me about four times in the span of two days, aka whenever we were with him on the weekends and he had to feed us. (For years most of my friends were happy meal toys.) So it’s interesting now how McDonald’s is Starbucking itself and most likely going to be a very different type of fast food place in the future. I can imagine that when I have kids one day (scaaa-reeey), and I’m taking them to Mickey D’s in order to bribe them, I’ll be like “you fools, once these places were underground and RAW and homeless people slept in the plastic booths—you know nothing!”)

But back to that glorious slideshow of local eats. It made me hungry, and it made me very mad at my tunafish sandwich today. I want to try some of these burgers. Excluding the super-expensive ones, does anyone have some suggestions? (Is anyone alive out there? CAN-YOU-HEAR-ME. Yes, I love Titanic..and comments…) Anyhow, the Eagle’s Deli photo scares me a lot, but I think I may have to check out Wild Willy’s Burger and Mr. Bartley’s Burger Cottage soon, based off of those amazing restaurant names alone. Yep, I’m going to eat my way through that list this summer. And maybe I just will have to make it over to that Craigie on Main, plop down twenty bucks, and see what all the fuss is about.

x0

(And happy teeny-tiny burst of sunshine—as my dad’s german ex-girlfriend would always say, “Thanks Gods for it!”)

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“When I was your age…

…I was putting myself through college in Boston paddling swan boats for the tourists.”
Kenneth: “Is that a euphemism for some kind of sex worker?”
(Photo and excellent 30 Rock quote recollection courtesy of MikeTomlin.)
xo

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Feels like Friday.

The OptimistFreak, giggling in front of le Barking Crab. Those red and yellow stripes always put me in a good mood—means summer is here.

My roommates are both beautiful, right? (And clearly they have a thing for cute shoes.) Hope everyone is enjoying the beautiful day. Go Celtics!

x0

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Cafe Nuovo, binge-eating, and Libya.

The North End is known for its Italian Restaurants, its tourists and its cheese shops. It’s known for pizza and espresso, pastry places like Mike’s and Modern, and old ladies with shopping bags and swollen feet. It’s not really known for having great breakfast. But when I woke up this morning, I had sore legs and a crabby-mood headache, and I made the executive-decision that only one thing was going to cut it: fresh coffee, and someone else making me eggs. (Okay, that’s two things. Math is over-rated.)

I’ll rewind a bit. Yesterday I had a very long (aka fourteen hour) day at my unpaid internship, followed by work tonight at the restaurant, straight through Monday. Wah, wah, wah, someone call the WHAMBULENCE, I know, but I really just needed to get out of my apartment and relax a bit before my shift today. And I guess I feel slightly guilty going out to eat by myself. It seems very Sofia Coppola to me. Like I needed new gladiator sandals and a pale blue mole-skin—and maybe also a directing career and a fortune—just to do it. Shockingly, I still somehow managed to get out the door.

And thankfully there was somewhere to go, since Salem Street now has Cafe Nuovo, a restaurant that as of now still serves only breakfast and brunch food. Which is fine, because they’re very good at it. I’ve been there three times since I moved here in December, and I have to say, me likey a lot. Big fan. It’s incredibly reasonable (5.99 (!) for two eggs any style, with delicious scali toast and very good home fries), they have good coffee, and the waitresses are nice. Hmm, what else…it gets great light in the morning. Good banana bread and orange juice, too. And it’s nice to eat alone at.

Of course, going out to eat today was really stupid of me, after the debacle of what happened last night. I was working an event that had a lot of food, which meant a lot of left-overs and harried face-stuffing while running dishes, and I got an up-close-and-personal reminder of why I was fifteen pounds heavier in college. (Let’s just say a buffet dining hall + stress isn’t good for anyone’s arm tone.) It was a night where it seemed completely normal to me that I was mixing shrimp cocktail with Popeyes fried chicken, followed by mini chocolate eclairs and roasted red pepper crostini, topped off with coffee-oreo JP Licks, and then a nice glugging of ginger-ale, with a side of macaroni and cheese and tiramisu to finish things off. (This all occurred in the span of twenty minutes.) I should probably be juice-fasting for the next 48 hours, or cayenne peppering, or whatever it is that Beyonce does to get “healthy” fast, but sometimes you just need to order an omlette with peppers and cheese and watch SportsCenter on mute, even if you’re still full from the night before. (And probably will be for the next month.)

But the North End really is lucky to have this spot. I sat there peacefully, drinking my fresh-squeezed orange juice, texting my boyfriend, and attempting to read an article on Libya, which is always fun first thing in the morning. (Whenever I come home to a new New Yorker at night, I always crawl into bed, read the celebrity profile (this week Jane Fonda—why is Klute SO GOOD?), read the movie reviews and other pop-culture-ey things (great article on the Pioneer woman blog), browse the comics and snort a little bit, and then throw the thing on the floor in exhaustion, feeling incredibly guilty that I have by-passed all the poems and in-depth articles on the numerous wars going on in this world, and chosen, instead, to sleep. (Does anyone else read those things last….or never?)) But it is what is. And I don’t like how little I comprehend of that stuff. (That stuff? Uh….) The question is, of course, what comprehending any of it does, anyhow. It’s strange to read about rebel armies, and the deaths, and the desert, while looking out a window at laughing old men and food trucks slowly lumbering by and feeling like you live in a very peaceful part of a very peaceful city in a very peaceful nation. But I’m going to finish the article now, most likely with a window on Wikipedia open, so I can understand what the hell the reporter’s talking about. And hopefully I don’t fall asleep from my idiocy, or from being too full.

xo

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There was a lamb there all along!

Many months ago, during our frigid and long winter, I posted some photos of the Catholic Church on Hanover Street. I loved how the statues looked buried in the snow, and I loved the bright green and super-cheesy wall that served as a back-drop.

WELL, I was walking around the same spot the other day, in the midst of a glorious GLORIOUS spring day, and I noticed how the whole area had been totally transformed: gone were the grey snow and fallen branches; in its’ place now a stunning display of pink flowers and heat and green grass and new life and tourists peeking at things and late April loveliness. And I discovered something entirely new about the site while I was at it: lambs! (Baby lambs!) Who knew, but there were baby lambs near the stoic praying people all along!

Speaking of the world’s most precious lamb….

Still not over it.

Probably never will be.

xo

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