Girl's weekend at Kripalu

I'll be finished gloating after this

Six months ago, when football season was in full swing and there were rumors swirling that the Patriots would find a way to trade for Randy Moss, I emailed Lunchboy (who had Randy Moss on his fantasy team) and said, “How interesting would it be if Randy Moss came to Boston?” “It’ll never happen,” he said. “Moss makes noise all the time and every team out there knows he’s just trouble.” And little football newbie that I am, I sat back and took his word for it, even though I had a hunch.

Fast forward to last week. Surprise, surprise.

Per our official agreement, I get five “I told you so’s” on this one and this post counts as #2 (when the trade was on the nightly news, I shrieked, “I so called it!” at the TV.) In the interest of preserving my marriage and in warding off a jinx on the 2007 fantasy football season, I won’t get into the final standings from 2006 or talk about certain articles that were published. But let’s just say that Moxie? She is still in the game.

Update

Mike has posted an update on his blog about the aftermath of the attack at his show on Friday.

Feisty

It’s amazing how much difference the weather makes. Last week people were getting seriously testy on the T. I saw a couple of angry exchanges that wouldn’t have happened in October and probably won’t happen now, just because everyone is a little happier that the sun is out.

I camped out on the porch this weekend while Lunchboy played with his new Xbox. Not that Gears of War isn’t cool, but I just couldn’t be inside any longer. We opened the windows and the cats sat behind the screen, sniffing the air as if they’d never smelled spring before. Scully rolled around in the garden and took her first dirt nap of the season. I have to get out there and rake so my hosta can actually surface. Maybe tomorrow.

We also found a couch this weekend, at long last. Perhaps the universe took pity on us after we muscled through a long lunch with my family sans alcohol, but finally the couch shopping is *finished*. The new set arrives Friday, which means only 3 more days of old couch-induced back pain. I am probably more excited about the couch than I should be—god knows I’ve talked my friends’ ears off about it—so now everyone can be glad that there will be no more talk of furniture shopping, at least not for a while. We’re having a sump pump and a new French drain installed in the basement next month and it’s going to be a long time before we’ll be opening the wallet again. Hopefully it will also be a long time, as in NEVER, that we’ll have to deal with flooding.

The sun and the couch—these things are cool. This, however, is not. At all. It’s shitty that something like this could happen anywhere today, but that it happened in Boston is somehow more offensive, more embarrassing. The most perplexing thing about it is that I don’t remember anything from Mike’s show that would offend a bunch of Christian activists. Not that what happened would be ok even if the show had controversial material of some sort but still. Why?

Naptime

This is really the smartest idea of the year. We need several of these in Boston, especially now that the city is in full Ray Bradbury mode.

Let's hope those May flowers are really freaking gorgeous

I'm not a coffee drinker and Lunchboy is a Starbucks latte fiend. Nevertheless, we have a coffee maker on a shelf in the kitchen that only sees action when his mother comes to visit. Today, however, the coffee pot came in very handy for bailing water out of the pseudo French drain in our basement. This drain has caused some problems in the past, and we've been talking to basement people to come and install a real drain that will keep our basement dry on days like this. Unfortunately, the work hasn't been done yet and now there's groundwater welling up in the drain, which means I have to bail using the coffee pot or attempt to hook up our complicated sump pump system, which involves duct tape and multiple hoses going out the basement window. I'm not afraid of doing it but it's really a two-person job and I'm just hoping it can wait until Lunchboy gets home tomorrow.

The cats think the whole thing is fascinating, though. They hover curiously while I bail and follow me when I empty the bucket in the bathroom. I bet it wouldn't be as interesting if their paws were getting wet.

Tales of joy and woe

On Friday night we went to see Mike Daisey perform his new monologue, Invincible Summer, at the ART. At Colby, Mike was one of those rare performers whose talent mesmerized, and everyone knew he was destined to go on to greater things of a scope far exceeding the realm of college theater. So I was completely unsurprised when Invincible Summer proved to be stellar. Not many performers can create emotional, compelling stories while sitting at a table, flipping pages, but Mike's words grab you and don't let go.

After the show, we met up with Mike and his lovely, warm, dramaturg wife Jean-Michele and went out for pho. They told more stories over dinner. His show is full of extremely personal details and having just been privy to bits on his parent's divorce, his marriage, and his deeply personal response to being in the middle of the shit on September 11th, I had the odd sensation of feeling like I knew him really well and yet not at all. It was good to see them.

Mike's performing in Cambridge through the first week of May. You should go--the show is really good.

Grabbing hands grab all they can

Turns out that if you're in the market for a new couch, as we are, the worst possible time to visit Jordan's Furniture is on a weekend--particularly the last weekend of their brilliant little "you get your furniture free if the Red Sox win the World Series" marketing ploy. It was, as they say, a madhouse. In the 2.5 hours we spent at the Reading store, two things of note occurred. First, we saw Elliot, of Barry and Elliot, floating around the store, which was kind of cool. All the salespeople were genuflecting before him. He looks and sounds just like he does in the TV commercials, and it's really weird to feel that frisson of pseudo-celebrity recognition over someone who is mostly known for his cheesy furniture commercials. Maybe it's his scads of money? I don't know.

Second, we were so ready to be done with couch shopping and to get the hell out of that store that we found and bought a couch (in a much-debated red), only to get home and realize that we had just bought a red couch for our yellow living room and what the hell were we thinking. So we called and cancelled the order, fighting the grumpiness that came from the knowledge that we now have to continue shopping for a couch. But at least it won't be at that store, in those crazy-making crowds.

PMS

All I've wanted all day were fish tacos from La Salsa and Snickers frozen yogurt from Big Chill.

Fromage

I'm not sure how this got by me, but April is National Grilled Cheese Month. A whole month--dedicated to the eating of grilled cheese sandwiches. Could anything be more wonderful?

A friend's fiance likes to have a birthday week--not just a day, a full week. Given this new knowledge, I think I'll take that precedent one step further and celebrate a birthday month by eating as many grilled cheese sandwiches as possible. In an ideal world, we could go to all these places, but I think I'm up for the challenge of finding good grilled cheese here in Boston. Picco has one that always rolls my eyes back into my head.

It's a mystery

I have never understood why people come to work when they're sick. Not just suffering from a cold, because that's pretty much a permanent condition in Boston and we should all just have IVs full of Sudafed implanted in our arms from November to May, but hardcore, high fever, messy bathroom sick. And yet people do this--they insist on working when they really should be in bed (or at least in their own bathroom, where their germs are less likely to migrate). Work is very important. This I know. But it's just work. And it's both unfair and unproductive to show up just for the face time, so your boss can see that you've heroically dragged yourself out of bed. Because what ends up happening is that you infect everyone in your office, which is why I'm home with the stomach flu today. And yes, I am bitter.