Hope everyone has a splendid love-filled day!
Hope everyone has a splendid love-filled day!
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.
(And happy teeny-tiny burst of sunshine—as my dad’s german ex-girlfriend would always say, “Thanks Gods for it!”)
Yesterday, I was having a blah day. And it stank. And there was no real reason for said blah-ness, which made it even worse. But sometimes those days just happen, I guess. (But do they happen to Kate Middleton? Riddle me this…)
Of course, there is one upside to having a bad day, or morning, or afternoon, and that is the moment you come out of it. I’m always very into that moment—the clouds parting sort of thing. It’s like, “meh meh meh my life is stupid and blah blah and then: hey, this piece of toast with peanut butter and honey on it is good….and…I’M A HAPPY PERSON!!”, and then all of a sudden you’re giggling and licking your fingers and shaking your butt. Bam. Mood gone.
So in honor of mood-turners, here are three things that got me feeling good yesterday:
(loved this is 5th grade; had absolutely no idea what she was talking about)
I ran into him on the street and we remembered each other from St.Patty’s day and he was again smoking a cigar which he blew in my face but it was lovely to see him and exchange such happy hello’s of recognition and feel like there are still things like neighborhoods out there. I like this North End place, I tell ya.
(Also, that coat is marvelous. As is how Rondo played on Tuesday night. And how bat-shit crazy KG is. (It’s a beautiful thing, KG’s insanity—it’s like performance art.) No, if the Celtics keep winning—and hopefully in a bit more dominating fashion…—one can never have an excuse to be crabby again.)
AND THEN, I saw this play with my friend Amy:
(A play! Plays are cool! You should see it, too! It’s in the South End! Tickets at BostonTheatreScene.com!)
And THEN I just remembered this:
(So…four things. I lied.)
Little Brady in a Patriots hat. That is my Zoloft.
Walking home the other day down Tremont, I came across an odd site: a grown man with a backwards baseball hat on, throwing a football up and down in his hands and laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world, while a pretty blonde woman smiled and looked on. The two of them looked like the prom king and queen—glowing and with the nice car even—frozen in time amid a dreary rush-hour.
(And apparently, I wasn’t the only one who saw them and reverted back to freshman year…)
I guess sometimes we just can’t look away.