this world is only gonna break your heart

I have crammed this week to bursting, and we just passed the halfway point.

On Monday I took the train to work for the first time in a while. I enjoyed the chance to skim the morning’s news on an inky copy of the Boston Metro, and I got some reading done on the bus ride from Central to the office. I took the office’s complementary shuttle back to Cambridge for the train ride home. It says something of urban priorities that what might sound like a slur in certain parts of the country - “he takes the bus to work, man” - sounds like a bonus here.

I also auditioned for ImprovBoston’s next round of casting. Ten other guys and I filed into IB’s spacious new theater, warmed up briefly, then did ten minutes straight of freeform improv scenes. I feel reasonably confident in what I did - I forced myself off the back wall, made offers, heightened offers, responded well to others’ input. With the virtue of hindsight I can say this wasn’t enough, since the director said we’d hear back by Wednesday evening at the latest, but I’m glad I got myself out there.

I took some time off from jiu-jitsu in order to pack and move, so returning on Tuesday felt phenomenal. I had been looking for excuses to punch, throw or grab something for a week at least. Working out in a converted warehouse in a 10-pound cotton gi when it’s 90 degrees out left me swimming in sweat but otherwise healthy.

Melissa and Fraley invited me to their ice cave to watch the Celtics, so I changed into a clean shirt and drove straight there. Despite the Celtics’ sloppy play I had a hell of a time. RJ already documented some of the best exchanges; I’ll merely include one:

(during iPod commercial)
Melissa: Ugh. Coldplay.
Me: You have a problem with the non-threatening U2?
Fraley: How do you get less threatening than U2?
RJ: You could be Keaneand be a non-threatening Coldplay.

Wednesday saw me reviving two more dormant traditions - the gym and writing. I probably undid all the efforts of the former by gorging on ice cream and brownies during a sales meeting (hey, they know how to guarantee my attendance), but the latter felt productive. Then I hit up karaoke, singing “This Is How We Do It” at birthday girl Sylvia’s request. Hitting that titular declaration in full voice, right off the 4-count lead in, really cements the song’s success. Pull it off and soar; fumble it and crash.

And I’ve already got busy nights lined up tonight and tomorrow as well. The Fortress of Solitude hasn’t hindered my style (yet).

every little piece of your life will mean something to someone

# Waiting in line for a scrip at the Target Pharmacy, I glanced down the aisle and saw a sign for Insolence Aids. Useful little niche, I thought. Use Dr. Fulghum’s Patented Mollifying Tonic for Ages 3 to 13. Same great formula for over one hundred years. Guaranteed to cut back-sass, pouting and tantrums by fifty percent. Then I realized I’d conflated the words Incontinence Aids and Insoles in a hasty skimming, a mistake I can’t be the first to have made.

# I went to a co-worker’s party in Brighton on Friday night. Folks I never saw played Beirut (which I always clarify as “beer pong,” because I don’t know that everyone uses that name) in the kitchen, while I sat in on several heated discussions to the rules of Asshole in the living room. We watched the Celtics lose Game 6 (”you’ve got to go for the percentage shots,” I kept yelling at the TV). I danced to an amateur DJ’s relatively small 90s crate and smoked a clove cigarette outside. Good times.

# I have a variety of exciting new bruises on my forearms from jiu-jitsu on Saturday. One’s about the size of a White Castle slider; the second, maybe a silver dollar. Another student got nicked in the temple with the point of a wooden knife. It bled worse than it turned out to be but, if the divot below my right index knuckle indicates anything, he’ll have an exciting new scar in about a week. Look out, ladies!

# I attended a Kentucky Derby party on Saturday! I don’t know if I made myself a mint julep, but I combined bourbon, ice, seltzer, syrup and mint leaves in a combination I found tasty. Gentlemen lounged around in suits and ascots; ladies preened and cooed under floppy sun hats. I missed the entirety of the actual race due to the smallness of the living room, but had an excellent time regardless. I hope to see everyone involved again some time soon.

# Allow me to confess some petty larcenies. FIRST: while driving through a McDonald’s on Saturday morning, I arrived at the first pay window with a dollar held out expectantly. The lady inside didn’t even glance my way in the thirty seconds I idled, fussing with an umbrella. Presuming I’d picked the wrong window - sometimes the drive-through uses one window, sometimes two - I motored up to the next one, where a young man thrust a cheeseburger on me. So I got a McDonald’s double cheeseburger without paying. SECOND: I trust the laundromat on my corner enough to leave stuff in the washer or dryer without sitting in front of it. You can always see a staff member hovering inside while the ‘mat has its doors open. On my third and final trip to the ‘mat on Sunday, the shy Asian lady behind the counter shuffled up and pressed a crumpled dollar bill on me, nodding and smiling. I looked at her in confusion until another customer translated: “you left it in the machine.” “Thank you,” I said, unsure how to explain to someone who apparently spoke no English that I hadn’t laundered anything that day other than bedding. So I’m up $2 on the weekend.

# I somehow took the exact same Red Line train car to and from Park Street on Sunday night, four hours apart. How do I know? The train compartment smelled vaguely of shit; it got so I didn’t mind it. That’s the worst thing that I can confess.

# “Does the bet still pay off if they shoot the horse?”
“Yes, it does.”
“The system works!”

# Finally, congratulations to ImprovBoston for holding a fantastic date auction at Venu on Sunday night. IB raised, if Sasha’s math can be trusted, just over $6000 from the auctions and raffles alone. Special congratulations to Serpico and Christine, friends and regulars both, for their fund-raising efforts. The whole night really felt like a grown-up prom, with classy folks parading on stage for the crowd’s approval and a late night dance party in formal wear. I had to practically tear myself away at 11:30 but could have stayed later.

you can find me in the club

Today being my actual birthday, I’ll recap the birthday celebration:

#: I caught up with Christine and surprise guests Meghan and Sam by getting to Common Ground early. Not early enough to avoid a cover, unfortunately. They’ve also switched to using bracelets instead of stamps, but the bar was already pretty packed with people who weren’t wearing bracelets. So I chucked mine soonest. I have hairy wrists.

#: I should have learned by now not to try listing attendees, as I inevitably forget someone and hurt their feelings. But: Joanna, Tim, Sylvia, Dan, Stephanie, Matthew, and Katie - thank you for coming out for my birthday.

#: Melissa and Fraley asked me to officiate their wedding! I accepted.

#: Someone stole my green thrift store coat at some point between 10:00 and 2:00. Stephanie used her pull with the staff to ask them to search, but with no luck. Apparently mine was the last of four coats to be taken in the evening. I love Common Ground, and I dearly love 90s Night, but this might be my last time there until the weather warms up.

#: So my first birthday present to myself - a green thrift store coat! I bought it at the same secondhand store in Allston as the last one, also for $20. It has a slightly warmer liner but feels a bit lighter.

#: Other birthday presents: Bridge of Birds, the House of Cards trilogy, Mind Performance Hacks, a sword stand for my recently acquired sword, and a big stack of graphic novels. Expect a digest on the lattermost with your next media blow.

#: I saw a bunch of two-person improv shows at IB on Sunday night. They ranged from the fantastic (Flynn/Maclean, Reynolds/French) to the mediocre (two BU alumni who just, I don’t know, god). Improv is tricky, and the two-person show is a tricky format.

#: I’m now in my late twenties.

why you at the bar if you ain’t popping the bottles?

So what did this past weekend hold?

I finished up some revisions for a Neutrino video project on Friday. Then, at the last minute, I drove to Central Square to catch an IB Show. Serpico, Michelle McN., Manny R., Paul K. and others did a series of Boston-related sketches. They hit all the important notes for some good Boston satire - drunken college girls, rowdy Red Sox fans, the mumblings of Mayor Menino - and kept me laughing.

I ran into Jacey and grabbed dinner with her at Tavern on the Square. For some reason the bar hosted a live DJ mixing some generic top 40 pop at too loud of a volume to allow for easy conversation. Dance music’s apparently a regular fixture at the Tavern but not a popular one - we were there until 11:00 and nobody started moving.

Saturday, Dennis Hurley asked me to play an extra in a sketch video he was shooting at IB. I showed up, held a notebook, and chatted with Matt McG. and Aaron C. about Obama during downtime.

Immediately after, I met up with Shannon and Brian P. for that aforementioned Neutrino project. Watching Dennis’s pals mess around with shot placement and multiple takes infected me with the video bug once more, leading me to volunteer to direct a project I had just helped write. I have been infected. I expect a two month convalescence.

I hung out with Lisa C. at B-Side Lounge on Saturday night. The nice server at B-Side introduced me to the wonders of the Manhattan - all the taste and power of whiskey, but without the indelible stigma of ordering a shot of Canadian Club. It is now my favorite drink. We compared notes on the Cambridge dating scene and agreed that it’s fraught with traps.

Sunday I stayed in my bathrobe all day. Every now and then I need a day where I don’t speak to another human being. It scours the palate, like one of those water diets that drops you two dress sizes in a weekend at a slight cost to kidney health. It leaves me eager for human contact by sundown. My introversion rules me but doesn’t rule me, if you value the distinction.

Also of note: Star Wars Battlefront has some of the highest replay value of any video game I’ve ever bought. If I’m in the mood for violence, I don’t need to load up a game and start some highbrow, ivory-tower “mission.” I don’t need to begin a quest and speak to the city fathers. I just say, “Put me in the gas refineries on Bespin and let me shoot stormtroopers” and forty seconds later I’m doing it. It has a beautiful purity I almost fear to touch.

Those last two paragraphs are probably the most interesting. Once again I have buried the lede.