I ate on Saturday with a whole posse of ladies – Victoria, Rachel, Mia and Lynn W – at Johnny D’s weekend jazz brunch. A balding man with a quiet electric guitar sat on stage, quietly threatening to turn his current jam into KT Tunstall’s “Suddenly I See” but always backing down at the last moment.
We talked about high school. The consensus: every small graduating class has the same thirty to forty guys in it – the beefy guy built like an oak door whose neck bulges a little over his collar; the gangly guy with a white man’s Afro; the kid with a buzz cut and bad acne. Of those forty, twenty-eight will stay in the same town most of their lives and work in their dad’s business (garages or restaurants in small towns; law firms and real estate brokers in prep school). But it’s the same guys in every part of the country.
I had been up since nine A.M., running and folding laundry, so what else should I do but go see Synecdoche, New York at the Somerville Theatre? My thoughts on the movie in a later media blow; for now, suffice to say that it slowed down the remainder of my afternoon. I noodled around the house, logging some hours on Fallout 3.
I got up at 8:30 AM on Sunday and found myself pulling a rolling basket through Shaw’s an hour later. I’d decided not to drive, the Porter Square Shaw’s being a zoo on Sundays, but I would have had my choice of parking spots if I did. Stubborn to a fault, though, I overloaded on groceries and trundled home on foot in freezing winds.
My last stop for the weekend: Will’s birthday party at ImprovBoston. We packed out the bar and both theaters, with people I hadn’t seen in months (Inman Square’s own Matt W. among them) turning out to wish the man a happy 34th. DJ Greg Wymer spun a variety of pop hits and I danced until my heart hurt. I left earlier than some – quarter to midnight – but later than I intended. Pics forthcoming.
The theme this weekend: waking up early. I never gave it much thought until this weekend, but I suppose I’m technically a morning person. I hate sleeping half the day away: there’s so many fun or productive things I could be doing. Then again, I don’t like going to bed early either – I’m missing out on what my friends are doing, or an opportunity to just sit and read. And even when I do lie down I have a hard time quieting my thoughts.
I just love being awake. I love consciousness so fucking much. I suspect my longstanding, paranoid fear of death stems from this: what if I’m in the middle of a really interesting train of thought when I kick it? There’s so much of the world to see and think about; what am I wasting time in bed for?