Saturday, October 8, 2011
A Quest for Cranberry Muffins
This morning I woke up and had a sudden pang of hunger, specifically for the cranberry muffins they have at Shaw's. So I made some coffee, fed my starving and crying kitty, took out the trash and began my one minute trek to Shaw's.
On the way, I called my mom on the way to tell her about this book I'm reading and enjoying. In the distance I saw a pretty large group of people huddled in front of the Planned Parenthood, one of the two buildings between my apartment and Shaw's. Now, it's not unusual for there to be a person or two in front of the Planned Parenthood on any given day, but the magnitude of this group was staggering. In front of the building, there is a yellow line drawn that any protesters have to stand behind. This is a good thing, of course, but poses an awkward problem to passersby. A very large part of me always wants to walk behind the protesters just so I can avoid their eyes, but would bring me all the way out into the line of traffic. I would guess that the people in traffic are generally angrier than any of those protesters.
So anyway, I was on the phone with my mom and she was talking about how beautiful the day was in Iowa...oh man, that's a large group of protesters. She asked me how the day was here. "it's.... nice" whoa, that's a sizable picture of Jesus... "Are the leaves turning colors yet?" she asks. The protesters see me coming and turn 2 more pictures of Jesus my way. "No, the leaves are still pretty green here." At this point I'm right in front of the group and the leader of the group said something probably from the bible and they all broke out into a solemn hymn. I walked past the three Jesus' (Jesuses? Jesui?) and a group of around 15 to 20 people, the spryest one around his 70's. Some were standing, some parked in their lawn chairs, all behind a large rope to keep them behind the line.. Hm, who put that there, anyway? Someone in Planned Parenthood? Man, I wouldn't want to have to be that guy...
Anyway, in a minute it was all over and I was in Shaw's picking out the best looking cranberry muffins. To further delay my trek back, I checked out the soap asiles and picked out three deodorants of different scents, grabbed a bag of chocolate, checked out all the drinks in the various coolers before all the check-out lines, stood in awe in front of all the fruit in the produce asile for a minute, and then went through the self check-out line: 1 package of 4 muffins, 3(deodorant), Halloween Nestle Crunch.
I won't write about the walk back. It was a mirror image of the way there, except I lost reception in the grocery store so I couldn't use my phone as a distraction while walking by them again. Instead I made eye contact with a couple of them and gave them some sort of smile assuming they must also be enjoying this fall weather.
On the way, I called my mom on the way to tell her about this book I'm reading and enjoying. In the distance I saw a pretty large group of people huddled in front of the Planned Parenthood, one of the two buildings between my apartment and Shaw's. Now, it's not unusual for there to be a person or two in front of the Planned Parenthood on any given day, but the magnitude of this group was staggering. In front of the building, there is a yellow line drawn that any protesters have to stand behind. This is a good thing, of course, but poses an awkward problem to passersby. A very large part of me always wants to walk behind the protesters just so I can avoid their eyes, but would bring me all the way out into the line of traffic. I would guess that the people in traffic are generally angrier than any of those protesters.
So anyway, I was on the phone with my mom and she was talking about how beautiful the day was in Iowa...oh man, that's a large group of protesters. She asked me how the day was here. "it's.... nice" whoa, that's a sizable picture of Jesus... "Are the leaves turning colors yet?" she asks. The protesters see me coming and turn 2 more pictures of Jesus my way. "No, the leaves are still pretty green here." At this point I'm right in front of the group and the leader of the group said something probably from the bible and they all broke out into a solemn hymn. I walked past the three Jesus' (Jesuses? Jesui?) and a group of around 15 to 20 people, the spryest one around his 70's. Some were standing, some parked in their lawn chairs, all behind a large rope to keep them behind the line.. Hm, who put that there, anyway? Someone in Planned Parenthood? Man, I wouldn't want to have to be that guy...
Anyway, in a minute it was all over and I was in Shaw's picking out the best looking cranberry muffins. To further delay my trek back, I checked out the soap asiles and picked out three deodorants of different scents, grabbed a bag of chocolate, checked out all the drinks in the various coolers before all the check-out lines, stood in awe in front of all the fruit in the produce asile for a minute, and then went through the self check-out line: 1 package of 4 muffins, 3(deodorant), Halloween Nestle Crunch.
I won't write about the walk back. It was a mirror image of the way there, except I lost reception in the grocery store so I couldn't use my phone as a distraction while walking by them again. Instead I made eye contact with a couple of them and gave them some sort of smile assuming they must also be enjoying this fall weather.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Burning Questions on a Saturday Evening
On my way out of my apartment building, I passed a room blaring some bumpin' pop radio song accompanied by what I would guess maybe 4 girls talking at once. We could assume there were a couple silent ones in there too. Which brings many burning questions to mind.
Maybe I need to provide a little background info about my apartment first. I reside in a tiny, overpriced studio in the middle of Boston. The building has about 25 identical units. It has what could pass for a kitchen including a small fridge and stove (the stove about the size of the plastic toy one Becky and I received one Christmas many years ago). The "living area", I guess you'd call it, has my bed, a table, dresser, and keyboard all lining the available walls. I have a bathroom, too, but it doesn't really add to my point unless some of the girls are indeed hanging out in the bathroom...being that it is only 7:00pm, I doubt that is yet the case. Aaaaand...that's about it. It's extremely small.
This isn't the first time a party is thrown in my building. There is one apartment a floor up that has regular parties at least once a week. Here are the questions I have for the studio apartment partiers:
1. How do you all fit in there? Are you all sitting down? On what? Standing? If so, where? In the middle of the room surrounded by someone else's dirty clothes and bed sheets? The parties I attended at school were in houses, big apartments..not some dinky studio. We had room to stretch out and do keg stands (Sadly, I did not partake in the traditional keg stand not necessarily for fear of getting drunk; but more for the fear of kicking someone in the face, choking, being dropped, or the possibility that gravity would take my shirt in a direction unintended. Yet, it was a risk many an Iowan took.)
2. By the time I hear the third explosion of breaking glass, was it on purpose? Wait, is that macho? Do ladies fall for the loud, drunk guy who shattered their beer bottle with one energetic toss? Maybe he is showing off his perfect baseball pitch he had in high school. Or perhaps a football throw would be better form...I never was one for sports. Anyway, call me weird, but I was always more attracted to the guy who set out a box for recycling the beer bottles at parties.
3. What exactly was that loud thing you just yelled?
Anyway, I don't really want the answers to these questions. I just want you to party elsewhere.
Maybe I need to provide a little background info about my apartment first. I reside in a tiny, overpriced studio in the middle of Boston. The building has about 25 identical units. It has what could pass for a kitchen including a small fridge and stove (the stove about the size of the plastic toy one Becky and I received one Christmas many years ago). The "living area", I guess you'd call it, has my bed, a table, dresser, and keyboard all lining the available walls. I have a bathroom, too, but it doesn't really add to my point unless some of the girls are indeed hanging out in the bathroom...being that it is only 7:00pm, I doubt that is yet the case. Aaaaand...that's about it. It's extremely small.
This isn't the first time a party is thrown in my building. There is one apartment a floor up that has regular parties at least once a week. Here are the questions I have for the studio apartment partiers:
1. How do you all fit in there? Are you all sitting down? On what? Standing? If so, where? In the middle of the room surrounded by someone else's dirty clothes and bed sheets? The parties I attended at school were in houses, big apartments..not some dinky studio. We had room to stretch out and do keg stands (Sadly, I did not partake in the traditional keg stand not necessarily for fear of getting drunk; but more for the fear of kicking someone in the face, choking, being dropped, or the possibility that gravity would take my shirt in a direction unintended. Yet, it was a risk many an Iowan took.)
2. By the time I hear the third explosion of breaking glass, was it on purpose? Wait, is that macho? Do ladies fall for the loud, drunk guy who shattered their beer bottle with one energetic toss? Maybe he is showing off his perfect baseball pitch he had in high school. Or perhaps a football throw would be better form...I never was one for sports. Anyway, call me weird, but I was always more attracted to the guy who set out a box for recycling the beer bottles at parties.
3. What exactly was that loud thing you just yelled?
Anyway, I don't really want the answers to these questions. I just want you to party elsewhere.
The Many Sleeping LeAnns
There are a few times in my life where I have dreams so vivid, I can't discern them from reality or my mind.
Did I really sign the little book label on my iPad case? Upon glancing up, I see that I didn't. Ex Libris:___________. In all honesty, signing that label would give me a great pleasure just as writing my name all over my sheet music and books did ten years ago, but I never remember feeling satisfied with my handwriting in the end. Today, it scares me to violate anything with a signature I'm unhappy with. But it has to be pen. That's a rule, right? Permanent pen. But every time I open the cover and see that little label sticker, my name is absent and it feels incomplete. What feels incomplete? I don't even know...something does.
They're odd, though. Dreams.
I am many people in my dreams. Sometimes I'm a sad, blubbering idiot. Unable to speak except at only an inaudible whisper; losing my teeth and causing quite an ugly spectacle of myself. Many times in these dreams I can't climb a hill or run without using my arms to help. Even in my dream I know that's ridiculous and try to run on only my two legs, only to fail and have to drop back down for the aid of my arms.
Sometimes I'm heroic and happy. Able to fly; soar up into the clouds after one great leap! Although, many times (still dreaming, of course) when I think about the flying too much, I forget how to do it effortlessly and it takes many leaps to get it right. Sometimes I try to teach my sister to fly. I've saved others from drowning and can effortlessly outrun any demons. It has been awhile since I've been such a person when sleeping.
Lately, I've just had real-life dreams though. Signing my iPad case in my sleep with my favorite pen. Oddly, I don't even remember if I liked the signature...
Did I really sign the little book label on my iPad case? Upon glancing up, I see that I didn't. Ex Libris:___________. In all honesty, signing that label would give me a great pleasure just as writing my name all over my sheet music and books did ten years ago, but I never remember feeling satisfied with my handwriting in the end. Today, it scares me to violate anything with a signature I'm unhappy with. But it has to be pen. That's a rule, right? Permanent pen. But every time I open the cover and see that little label sticker, my name is absent and it feels incomplete. What feels incomplete? I don't even know...something does.
They're odd, though. Dreams.
I am many people in my dreams. Sometimes I'm a sad, blubbering idiot. Unable to speak except at only an inaudible whisper; losing my teeth and causing quite an ugly spectacle of myself. Many times in these dreams I can't climb a hill or run without using my arms to help. Even in my dream I know that's ridiculous and try to run on only my two legs, only to fail and have to drop back down for the aid of my arms.
Sometimes I'm heroic and happy. Able to fly; soar up into the clouds after one great leap! Although, many times (still dreaming, of course) when I think about the flying too much, I forget how to do it effortlessly and it takes many leaps to get it right. Sometimes I try to teach my sister to fly. I've saved others from drowning and can effortlessly outrun any demons. It has been awhile since I've been such a person when sleeping.
Lately, I've just had real-life dreams though. Signing my iPad case in my sleep with my favorite pen. Oddly, I don't even remember if I liked the signature...
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