Oh flawless weekend. Flawless like the duck. Perfect and complete, lacking nothing.
I saw 7:00 AM on a Saturday for the first time in years. I saw it from the appropriate side, I mean -- not crawling home pained and broken in the gray Allston dawn or sickstomach up all night Ritalin hangover on the #69 bus. Good spring night openwindow clean and dream-laden sleep, waking up with the sun on my face.
I had one dream of being in this giant hotel at night with enormous glass windows, and outside the windows was this space-age land, like Bladerunner, and I floated in the darkended room. The objects in the room would rise to meet you if you concentrated on their name in your mind. I would be floating and think "chair" and the chair would float up slowly, bobbing, to meet my feet 'veso I could stand on it. I have no idea where this came from. Everything was clean and cold and lit by small, bright LEDs.
I wrestled my mountain bike up from the cellar on Saturday, excited to take on the city, and discovered after three blocks exactly how out of shape I am.
There is nothing like this city on a bike, though, careening through Central Square, hit full in the face by curry and car exhaust, hearing the music in different stores as you whizz by, pedaling like mad through the potholes, almost getting killed by bike messengers. My favorite part is on Mass. Ave, right by the NECCO factory, and for one instant the whole world smells like Necco Wafers, or on a lucky treat day, mint chocolate chip ice cream.
Last summer the Boston Phoenix put out their annual Best of Boston edition, and one of the categories was the "Oh Yeah This is Why I Live in Boston" spot, and the Charles MGH T-stop took the cake; I took on the bridge on my bike at that magic spring 7 PM time immediately after sunset, the sky this incomprehensible blue that is impossible to recreate on anything two dimensional -- especially bedroom walls -- and the stars are slightly visible, and the clouds are darker than the sky. I swear my heart broke open with joy, the warm wind and churning muddy river... I've become so sentimental and silly in my old age.
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