Boston

I was short a back issue of Buffy Season 8 because I've been a delinquent comics buyer and Newbury, a shop I like less and less, did not have it. Fine--it's not their responsibility to have two months ago's single ish. But this story arc ("Wolves at the Gate") has had one MAJOR BOMBSHELL already and I neeeeed every ish. So I went to Comicazi in my neighbourhood and they also didn't have issue 14 on the shelf. At Newbury, which I'd been growing very cool about lately, I would not have asked the staff for help because, ah, they are not fanboys and the store stocks too much general stuff for me to think they care about finding me one back issue of Buffy for $2.99. They cop the kinds of attitude I used to get from the kids at Reckless (but never got from the staff at Laurie's Planet of Sound, which is why I love Laurie's with the burning fire of 1000 of your Earth's yellow suns. That and I think Laurie's could read my mind: if they didn't have something one week, I'd just think to myself "gee, I wish they had That One Album," and it'd be there the next week, without fail).

First, a comment: in the UK and former colonies, it's "sport" singular and "maths" plural, whereas in the ol' U.S. of A., it's "math" and "sports." I love that.

And now, Sport.

The Celtics are really sticking it to the Lakers in these closing minutes of the first half of game whatever-it-is.

When faced with your transit line being on fire, proceed directly to your second-best option. Do not think, "oh, I'll try something new this time" or "maybe they'll get the shuttle buses sorted out real soonish-like." You shouldn't, and they won't, and you will be either 2 1/2 hours late getting home or an hour late getting to work, rushing to someplace you don't even want to be anyway.

In other,not unrelated news, our Boston exit strategy is shaping up more quickly, which pleases me.

This summer I am getting back on the blog wagon. I hope it's drawn by a team of clydesdales.

I'm also making stuff around the house. I just topped an old desk with a layer of cork and hung 9 small line drawings of the wildflowers of North America.

Q: So, Nora, what have you been up to?
A: Oh, not much. Working and not working, sleeping and not sleeping, reading, sweating, not cooking, and taking cold showers.

Q: Whatcha reading?
A: Well, I just finished re-reading Tipping the Velvet and last weekend I ripped through All the Pretty Horses, the writing style of which reminded me of Faulkner, but somehow I was able to stand it--can't say the same for Faulkner. I'm late to the party on Cormac McCarthy, and I've wanted to read The Road ever since that guy I interviewed with at The Retail Bookstore back in September mentioned that he was loving it (you can always trust employee recommendations of that sort) but I am concerned I will lose some cred reading an Oprah book. She ruins everything. But still...the book existed before she picked it, and there's some comfort in the fact that a post-apocalyptic novel of ruination and devastation will be in the hands of many people more used to things like guest appearances by Dr. Phil or Best Friend Gail. Right now I'm tackling Anna Karenina. Little light beach reading, you know...

Well, despite my best intentions, etc. etc. I'm sure you see what's happened here.

Work. In the inimitable words of the Mos, I was looking for a job and then a I found a job, and heaven knows I'm miserable now.

Not really. I like to work; I enjoy toil. But this is certainly an entry level position and my counterparts are all younger than me and have less work experience. We look at our jobs differently: this is already my career, but for them, it may or may not be. For at least two, I know it is not; they're biding time until grad school this coming fall. But really, the way I do my work has very little to do with them. I'm finishing out my fifth week. There is a lot to learn and not a lot of time to learn it in, since adoption season cometh. I have two bosses, between whom I am expected to split my time evenly, 2 1/2 days' worth of hours per week each. This is...a challenge. Additionally, there are many acronyms being tossed around in the office, and I don't yet know what any of them mean--one acronym I should mention here, though: TPS report. No, really. I've had to fill out numerous TPS reports to request access to various IT utilities. Next thing: I bet I get a PC Load Letter error on the fax machine in the corner...

I got the job, and they're bringing me in $2500 higher than list, because I'm JUST THAT GOOD, y'all, I'm so very desirable.

I start on the 12th, so I have next week to set my affairs in order, tell my freelance clients that I'll have decreased capacity going forward, do my 2006 taxes, buy some work pants, and so forth.

The prospect of imminent paychecks is making me a little giddy...will I go to the record store or the comic book shop first? Do I need some new kicks? I may need some luxury groceries--like olives, juice, and danish butter (!!!). Or maybe I just need to see a matinee movie each day next week, with a big cherry coke in one hand and a box of hot tamales in the other.

The Bostonland Area would like to see both my partner and I dead, worm food, standing in the clearing at the end of the road, drawing our last rattling breaths, pushing up daisies, hedgehogs bringing our mail, etc.

Its weapon of choice for punching my ticket? Cars. I've already been both hit and nearly hit whilst biking, and I get the distinct feeling that every time I cross the street, I'm putting my life in the hands of drivers who really don't seem to give a shit about committing a little vehicular manslaughter (negligent though it may be). I used to think that very few people actually wanted to kill someone else with their cars; now I'm not so sure.

Each day I get to pick: will I be sad today or will I be furious?
How nice it is, sometimes, to have the choice.
How lucky I am, to have options.

Today I am furious.

I am a ball of fucking fire. Touch me and die, infidels. Don't make me get my Two-By-Four of Truth and bend this entire city of bean-bakers over my knee and beat some sense into it.

Today when we asked the shop owner where the two of us might be able to walk to that would have some shops to peruse, some windows to scope, some strolling, some people to watch, and possibly a cafe into which we could pop for a cuppa and...

...and all of the places she mentioned were places that I'd been either earlier today or before in my only four weeks of living here.

TONIGHT at the Middle East downstairs:

The English Beat with Lynval Golding of The Specials and Pauline Black from The Selecter - with special guests Westbound Train (CD Release, Hellcat Records) – two hours of Ska, Reggae, and 80's hits - 18+, $20, 7:30pm doors

Lately I cannot get enough two-tone. See you there.

**small review follows in comments, added 9/21**