OK. Actually, this is the last post about the trip to Buenos Aires.
And, for your reading enjoyment, we have a guest writer... Mo!
I was foggy about this story since I was tired and emo when it happened. After visiting P's parents' fabulous house, P's mother was quite considerate and called a car service to pick us up.
This is what happened:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Cops Are Different in Buenos Aires"
an Essay by Mo
We had to go through a set of tolls in order to get on the highway,
and there was a broken-down car in line and another car was sort of
swerving around. Our driver made a "tsk" sound as he maneuvered around
the broken-down car and the swerver, but we made it onto the highway
without incident.
On the highway, we found ourselves following a cop car. Sure, the cop
car was driving kind of slowly for a highway, but that did not seem a
good reason for our cab driver to start tailgating and flashing his
lights. Let me repeat: The cab driver started tailgating and flashing
his lights at a cop. A very painful hush fell over the cab as we
Americans began to pray that we were not about to be tossed into a
South American jail.
The cop pulled over,we pulled behind him, and the cab driver got out
of the car. That's when the panicked whispering began. "What the hell
is he doing?" we said to each other. "Did he just pull over a cop?"
Meanwhile, the cab driver and cop held a very calm conversation that,
to our surprise, did not in any way involve the cop throwing the
cabbie up against the car and cuffing him. So that was a good sign
right there.
After a few minutes, the cop returned to his car and drove merrily
away. The cabbie returned to our car and started up the engine. After
a bit of a stunned silence, D, our heroic Spanish speaker, asked the
driver what just happened. There was some explaining in Spanish, and
then D turned around to us and said, "Oh! He just wanted to get the
cop's attention so that he could report that driver back at the
tollbooth who was swerving. He looked like a drunk driver. I guess
that here, it's OK to get a cop's attention by flashing your lights at
him."
"D," I said, "Tell him that in America, flashing your lights at the
cops evokes a very different response."
Friday, August 19, 2005
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Been Caught Cheatin'
When I looked up briefly while eating a slice of white pizza at lunch today, I saw... gasp... my NYC hairdresser!
I quickly looked down, worried about being seen.
She meandered around the pizza place for a few minutes, chatted with someone, and then noticed me.
"Shit," I thought.
She walked over and screeched "You put streaks in your hair?"
"Well, yeah, um, you know, I went to Argentina and it was only $10 so I thought 'Why not?'"
"Yeah, why not," she said.
"Yeah. Well. You look cute," I said, referring to her adorable dress.
"Thanks. How are things with your boyfriend?"
"Oh, good, thanks, better, yeah, our parents met this weekend."
"And things are still good?"
"Amazingly."
She touched my hair. "You got a hair cut too," she said, unamused.
"Yeah, well, again, it was only $10 and... how's your apartment?"
"Good, good, I'm getting it together. Your hair is shorter," she smiled a bit.
"Yeah, the front was getting kind of out of control and I asked for a straight haircut and now I can't wear it curly which is weird, you know? Can't have it both ways, right?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"OK, well, good to see you!" and she walked away.
Caught red-handed with the new haircut. I hope she didn't feel betrayed.
The irony is that I won't go to her again anyway. I had the Buenos Aires excuse this time, but what will I say next time? As much as I love her haircuts and conversation, things have gotten too expensive. I have to save money for things like trips and martinis. Can't be dropping $100 every time I get my hair cut. No way.
She never said it looked good, and I am having one of the best hair days ever.
Oh well.
I quickly looked down, worried about being seen.
She meandered around the pizza place for a few minutes, chatted with someone, and then noticed me.
"Shit," I thought.
She walked over and screeched "You put streaks in your hair?"
"Well, yeah, um, you know, I went to Argentina and it was only $10 so I thought 'Why not?'"
"Yeah, why not," she said.
"Yeah. Well. You look cute," I said, referring to her adorable dress.
"Thanks. How are things with your boyfriend?"
"Oh, good, thanks, better, yeah, our parents met this weekend."
"And things are still good?"
"Amazingly."
She touched my hair. "You got a hair cut too," she said, unamused.
"Yeah, well, again, it was only $10 and... how's your apartment?"
"Good, good, I'm getting it together. Your hair is shorter," she smiled a bit.
"Yeah, the front was getting kind of out of control and I asked for a straight haircut and now I can't wear it curly which is weird, you know? Can't have it both ways, right?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"OK, well, good to see you!" and she walked away.
Caught red-handed with the new haircut. I hope she didn't feel betrayed.
The irony is that I won't go to her again anyway. I had the Buenos Aires excuse this time, but what will I say next time? As much as I love her haircuts and conversation, things have gotten too expensive. I have to save money for things like trips and martinis. Can't be dropping $100 every time I get my hair cut. No way.
She never said it looked good, and I am having one of the best hair days ever.
Oh well.
Freaky
There is news breaking all over the blogosphere that somebody was murdered this morning outside of Moby's Teany in the Lower East Side.
Sad.
And freaky.
Why is this more freaky than your average NYC murder? Because (a) as of right now data suggest that it was random and (b) it happened in broad daylight and (c) it may or may not involve Moby.
People are dropping like flies down there from random murders and bad batches of heroine. I myself will be dining down there this evening, enjoying vegetarian food that has nothing at all to do with Moby.
Crazy, crazy city.
Sad.
And freaky.
Why is this more freaky than your average NYC murder? Because (a) as of right now data suggest that it was random and (b) it happened in broad daylight and (c) it may or may not involve Moby.
People are dropping like flies down there from random murders and bad batches of heroine. I myself will be dining down there this evening, enjoying vegetarian food that has nothing at all to do with Moby.
Crazy, crazy city.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 3
We parted from D's parents, not quite relieved. D said "I won't be relaxed until I have your father's car back at your parents' house."
I said "I won't be relaxed until we are on the train back to NYC."
"Don't worry," he said. He was right - I was worried about time, but realistically we had plenty of time to drive back, grab a quick bite to eat, pack, and leave again in two hours. Plenty of time!
We stopped quickly at the Rosewood, one of my favorite spots in all the world. It's less than a mile from my parents' house. It's this nautical themed restaurant not-on-the-coast that has amazing ice cream and apparently amazing seafood that people go nuts for. I customarily get a grilled cheese and the best onion rings on the planet. I'd been craving them all weekend and every attempt to eat them had been foiled up until this point, so I decided it was worth the time risk to hopefully get some onion rings.
We pulled up frantically. I asked the girl how long it would take for onion rings, a grilled cheese, and two ice creams, and she said "Five minutes!" YES!
I devoured a watermelon sherbet cone during those five minutes. We jumped back into the car and drove back to my parents' house. When we arrived, Father said "Did you guys call about getting on the train?" "No," we both said. "Well, maybe you should. You know. Just so we don't drive all the way there in the rain and then you can't get on the train."
"I don't think we have anything to worry about," D said.
"Well, I you should call," Father said.
"You know, there's really no reason not to call," I said to D.
He called.
And, of course, the train was sold out.
Stranded.
And the MVP of the weekend is... Father!
We spent the night sleeping on the basement floor, since Brother and his girlfriend AM were sleeping in his room. Before we went to sleep, we played Battleship and I was filled with nostalgia for Former Boyfriends with whom I hid in the basement in years past. I miss the days of being 18 and rabid, unable to help myself and finding any way to find time alone with Boy and to escape the family. Whatever Boyfriend would be banished to the basement and I'd be "sleeping" upstairs in my bedroom. I'd sneak down to the basement after my parents had gone to sleep and I'd creep back into my bed before they awoke. We'd hide in the basement, the lights dimly glowing, having those all night conversations that we thought were oh-so-deep in college and I'd think things like "Is he my soulmate?" and "There's nothing that matters in this world beyond this basement" and "This is so beautiful."
I had these sorts of feelings with D as we laughed on our pile of comforters and vintage Return of the Jedi bedding in my parents' basement. Except this time I was thinking things like "I don't believe in a soulmate" and "The world beyond this basement is ugly and antagonistic" and "He is so beautiful."
We slept surprisingly well and woke up happy and with back pain. We had a nice breakfast with my Mother, hopped on the train and headed back to NYC.
It makes me sad that I am no longer impressed by the view of the city skyline from the train. When I was visiting Certain Someone last summer, every time I saw it I was filled with excitement and couldn't think anything other than "I must live here!"
We got off the train and headed back to my apartment, where I read mail, quickly unpacked and then repacked for the night. We headed to a furniture store where D intended to buy a couch. I'd made a to-scale floorplan of his apartment prior to our leaving for the weekend, along with to-scale little pieces of furniture that we cut out and arranged to see if the two-seat or three-seat couch would be optimal in his extremely small studio. (Incidentally, Mother played with this to-scale floor plan toy and said "You realize your father did this exact thing when we moved into this house, right?" I have so become my parents and there is no use resisting!) He'd decided on the three-seat, but on our way to the furniture store he started doubting himself and decided to go for the two-seat, which they no longer had in stock.
Drat!
Suffering from an intense nacho craving, I said that I'd like something involving nachos prior to our seeing Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man. We had a nice date at a cheesy Mexican place on Broadway. You know the one - with the giant neon Mexican hat. Yeah. That one. Awesome.
There were a million people in line at the Angelika (weird for a Monday night - is everyone seeing Broken Flowers?) so we decided to sit down early instead of dropping off D's suit at his apartment.
Weird movie. I don't know what to think. I thought it was a bit judgmental. Whereas White Diamond was a love letter, this movie used the character of Timothy Treadwill to bring up issues at the expense of the deceased. It felt weird to me that people in the theater were laughing at him. It was cut so that would happen, and that made me feel uneasy. I feel like Timothy Treadwill's sexuality played a big part in the movie, and that wasn't necessary. I don't know. It was interesting, and it's definitely on my mind, so I guess that means it was a good movie. But don't run out and see it. Rent it if you are curious.
And now I am back at work and trying to enjoy being sedentary until next weekend, when I go to MA again.
Until tomorrow...
I said "I won't be relaxed until we are on the train back to NYC."
"Don't worry," he said. He was right - I was worried about time, but realistically we had plenty of time to drive back, grab a quick bite to eat, pack, and leave again in two hours. Plenty of time!
We stopped quickly at the Rosewood, one of my favorite spots in all the world. It's less than a mile from my parents' house. It's this nautical themed restaurant not-on-the-coast that has amazing ice cream and apparently amazing seafood that people go nuts for. I customarily get a grilled cheese and the best onion rings on the planet. I'd been craving them all weekend and every attempt to eat them had been foiled up until this point, so I decided it was worth the time risk to hopefully get some onion rings.
We pulled up frantically. I asked the girl how long it would take for onion rings, a grilled cheese, and two ice creams, and she said "Five minutes!" YES!
I devoured a watermelon sherbet cone during those five minutes. We jumped back into the car and drove back to my parents' house. When we arrived, Father said "Did you guys call about getting on the train?" "No," we both said. "Well, maybe you should. You know. Just so we don't drive all the way there in the rain and then you can't get on the train."
"I don't think we have anything to worry about," D said.
"Well, I you should call," Father said.
"You know, there's really no reason not to call," I said to D.
He called.
And, of course, the train was sold out.
Stranded.
And the MVP of the weekend is... Father!
We spent the night sleeping on the basement floor, since Brother and his girlfriend AM were sleeping in his room. Before we went to sleep, we played Battleship and I was filled with nostalgia for Former Boyfriends with whom I hid in the basement in years past. I miss the days of being 18 and rabid, unable to help myself and finding any way to find time alone with Boy and to escape the family. Whatever Boyfriend would be banished to the basement and I'd be "sleeping" upstairs in my bedroom. I'd sneak down to the basement after my parents had gone to sleep and I'd creep back into my bed before they awoke. We'd hide in the basement, the lights dimly glowing, having those all night conversations that we thought were oh-so-deep in college and I'd think things like "Is he my soulmate?" and "There's nothing that matters in this world beyond this basement" and "This is so beautiful."
I had these sorts of feelings with D as we laughed on our pile of comforters and vintage Return of the Jedi bedding in my parents' basement. Except this time I was thinking things like "I don't believe in a soulmate" and "The world beyond this basement is ugly and antagonistic" and "He is so beautiful."
We slept surprisingly well and woke up happy and with back pain. We had a nice breakfast with my Mother, hopped on the train and headed back to NYC.
It makes me sad that I am no longer impressed by the view of the city skyline from the train. When I was visiting Certain Someone last summer, every time I saw it I was filled with excitement and couldn't think anything other than "I must live here!"
We got off the train and headed back to my apartment, where I read mail, quickly unpacked and then repacked for the night. We headed to a furniture store where D intended to buy a couch. I'd made a to-scale floorplan of his apartment prior to our leaving for the weekend, along with to-scale little pieces of furniture that we cut out and arranged to see if the two-seat or three-seat couch would be optimal in his extremely small studio. (Incidentally, Mother played with this to-scale floor plan toy and said "You realize your father did this exact thing when we moved into this house, right?" I have so become my parents and there is no use resisting!) He'd decided on the three-seat, but on our way to the furniture store he started doubting himself and decided to go for the two-seat, which they no longer had in stock.
Drat!
Suffering from an intense nacho craving, I said that I'd like something involving nachos prior to our seeing Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man. We had a nice date at a cheesy Mexican place on Broadway. You know the one - with the giant neon Mexican hat. Yeah. That one. Awesome.
There were a million people in line at the Angelika (weird for a Monday night - is everyone seeing Broken Flowers?) so we decided to sit down early instead of dropping off D's suit at his apartment.
Weird movie. I don't know what to think. I thought it was a bit judgmental. Whereas White Diamond was a love letter, this movie used the character of Timothy Treadwill to bring up issues at the expense of the deceased. It felt weird to me that people in the theater were laughing at him. It was cut so that would happen, and that made me feel uneasy. I feel like Timothy Treadwill's sexuality played a big part in the movie, and that wasn't necessary. I don't know. It was interesting, and it's definitely on my mind, so I guess that means it was a good movie. But don't run out and see it. Rent it if you are curious.
And now I am back at work and trying to enjoy being sedentary until next weekend, when I go to MA again.
Until tomorrow...
Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 2
D and I walked to the only restaurant that is walking distance from my parent's house for breakfast on Sunday. While we were there, the power went out. We had been getting anxious about the Parent Summit prior to this, but ohmygod! "Oh my god," I said. "It's going to be 12,000 degrees in my parents' house. This is going to be suck! Now it will be psychologically AND physically uncomfortable!" It was 12,000 degrees in MA on Sunday morning. I was beginning to panic. D called his parents, and nonchalantly asked if they had power. They did.
"But what if there's no power in Boston!?" I yelled. "What if this is statewide? What are going to do?!?!"
"What if this is the entire Northeast!?!?" D asked.
"Oh, well, that would be awesome!"
"Yeah! The trains wouldn't run!"
"Wait - the trains are electric?"
"I think so."
"Awesome! So there will be no Amtrak trains which means we can't possibly get back to NYC, which means days off! WOO HOO!!!!"
And then "But wait. Does that mean the T won't be running? Wait! What will we do with your parents if the T ISN'T RUNNING!?!??!"
I called Sister to verify that Boston did, indeed, have power. They did. Relief.
D called his friend in NYC to verify that NYC didn't have power. Unfortunately, they did. Drat.
We walked back to my parents' house, sweating, since we'd been sitting in the absence of air conditioning and fan during breakfast.
When we got there, we were greeted by the pleasant sound of a vacuum cleaner.
Thank god.
Mother was freaking out, of course, vacuuming like a lunatic. While she vacuumed, I started to reduce clutter by putting things in neat, little piles. This was a technique utilized by Mother when we were little. She would say "So and so is coming over tonight. If you don't move your stuff and get it out of here, I am going to move it for you." She would put things in piles - we wouldn't be able to find anything. The piles would sometimes remain in the common areas, or would be moved to bedrooms behind closed doors. Either way, you could never find anything because she would just move it.
As I started to put things in piles, I realized that apparently my mother no longer subscribes to the anti-clutter policy. Man. She had so much stuff lying around! Perhaps she just hates non-self clutter. I don't know. I started moving her stuff around and said "Do you want me to move this stuff to your room?" and she was like "No, its fine."
It's hilarious, actually, that I live my life as a homage to my Mother, who no longer exists in the form I remember. I can't stand clutter and I blame her. If I have one piece of mail lying around I go nuts.
Since she wouldn't let me remove the clutter, I condensed it. She had her like nail-kit out in the living room - you know, nail files, other weird nail-related devices that are mysterious to me because I don't do my nails with such flare. I said "Ma, do you want to move this?" and she was like "No, why?"
So now it is I who am anal! I don't know. I just thought "It's weird to have your nail file just, like, out when your daughter's boyfriend's parents are over, isn't it?"
I said "Well, look, I'll just put this over here on the couch and when you go up to your room you can just bring it up with you."
Verbatim. I said verbatim what she used to say to us.
Absurd.
I assumed the vacuum activities so she could calm down, all the while trying to understand how my Mother went from an organized, anal, obsessed-with-cleanliness person to this. The house was a mess, and I was slightly concerned, but moreso with the change in my folks. They don't even have food in the house anymore. I imagine this is some sort of side effect from wanting-to-move.
I cleaned, put things in piles, drank 40 glasses of water, had nervous fits, and couldn't unlock the door when the doorbell rang.
They walked in and exchanged introductions.
While my Mother talked to various aunts about her doll collections (who knew they had this in common?) and with D's Mother about his not eating enough vegetables, Father showed software to D's Father and they exchanged business cards and were both thrilled to learn that they were both PE's! Wow! I showed the aunts and D's Mother some photos. I had, on a whim, brought two photo albums - one with photos from Buenos Aires and another with a random collection of photos I've taken during the last six months, complete with photos from my trip to Orlando.
D's Mother was happy to see photos I'd taken of her granddaughters, and I was peeved to learn that D had not sent the photos to her or to his brother. I had been slightly distressed that they never commented on them or thanked me for them. I have to admit that the photos are good - so I was surprised that they had nothing to say. Well, they had nothing to say because they'd never seen them. Hmph.
The Aunts and D's Mother loved the photos of the grandchildren, and thought my photography was good. Sweet!
Then came the awkward but necessary portion of the visit when my parents volunteer me to play piano for the guests!
This always reminds me of period pieces in which visitors arrive and the eldest daughter, who is shy and spinsterly but who plays lovely piano, has to sit down and play piano while the women gossip and the men smoke and talk business. Of course she is then noticed by the young gentleman visitor who is in town tidying up his deceased grandmother's estate or something.
Nevertheless... throughout history, this has been me, and throughout history I have resisted and thrown fits because I, as you all know, can't play piano in front of people. I can't really do anything in front of people. Insecure, nervous, worried.
I said "I'd love to, but I have no sheet music here," which was actually the truth.
My Mother said "No! Play 'Lullaby!' I heard you playing it this morning and it was lovely." Yes, I'd been playing it but I don't actually know it. I was just improvising when I noticed that D had fallen asleep while listening to me play. You can't improvise in front of two sets of parents and three aunts when you have heart-attack-inducing-fear-of-public-anything.
"What about Chopin's 'Etude'?" D's eldest aunt said, and then she hummed a bit.
"I don't know... I knew it once... but I haven't played it in years and there is no sheet music here."
I said I'd see what I could find, and voila! The only sheet music I had remaining at my parents' house was Chopin's "Etude." What are the odds?
I played it. I shook the whole time and butchered it. I don't think the audience noticed. I think D was proud.
Surreal, I tell you. Surreal.
We headed into Boston after our parents exchanged enthusiastic farewells, where we ate a late lunch at Fire and Ice. We were joined by Sister (so nice to see her!) and then walked around the Harvard campus, where D's Mother and Aunts took pictures with the statue of John Harvard. We headed into the city via the Red Line and walked through the Common and Public Gardens. We then headed to the Esplanade to walk along the river but ended up running to the T because it was pouring. The temperature had dropped about 20 degrees since the morning and the family wanted to "see Boston" but what do you do in one hour in annoying weather? I had no idea. I kept saying "What do you want to do?" and they were like "We don't know. We've never been here." I said "You really need, like, a day." D's father kept saying "They just want to take pictures" which is why I decided on the Common because - The State House! Cheers! Pretty flowers! The Hatch! I said "You really should come back and walk the Freedom Trail. That would be nice."
Yeah. I think they hated Boston. But its not my fault, because how can you see a city in two hours on a gross day? Not my fault!
"But what if there's no power in Boston!?" I yelled. "What if this is statewide? What are going to do?!?!"
"What if this is the entire Northeast!?!?" D asked.
"Oh, well, that would be awesome!"
"Yeah! The trains wouldn't run!"
"Wait - the trains are electric?"
"I think so."
"Awesome! So there will be no Amtrak trains which means we can't possibly get back to NYC, which means days off! WOO HOO!!!!"
And then "But wait. Does that mean the T won't be running? Wait! What will we do with your parents if the T ISN'T RUNNING!?!??!"
I called Sister to verify that Boston did, indeed, have power. They did. Relief.
D called his friend in NYC to verify that NYC didn't have power. Unfortunately, they did. Drat.
We walked back to my parents' house, sweating, since we'd been sitting in the absence of air conditioning and fan during breakfast.
When we got there, we were greeted by the pleasant sound of a vacuum cleaner.
Thank god.
Mother was freaking out, of course, vacuuming like a lunatic. While she vacuumed, I started to reduce clutter by putting things in neat, little piles. This was a technique utilized by Mother when we were little. She would say "So and so is coming over tonight. If you don't move your stuff and get it out of here, I am going to move it for you." She would put things in piles - we wouldn't be able to find anything. The piles would sometimes remain in the common areas, or would be moved to bedrooms behind closed doors. Either way, you could never find anything because she would just move it.
As I started to put things in piles, I realized that apparently my mother no longer subscribes to the anti-clutter policy. Man. She had so much stuff lying around! Perhaps she just hates non-self clutter. I don't know. I started moving her stuff around and said "Do you want me to move this stuff to your room?" and she was like "No, its fine."
It's hilarious, actually, that I live my life as a homage to my Mother, who no longer exists in the form I remember. I can't stand clutter and I blame her. If I have one piece of mail lying around I go nuts.
Since she wouldn't let me remove the clutter, I condensed it. She had her like nail-kit out in the living room - you know, nail files, other weird nail-related devices that are mysterious to me because I don't do my nails with such flare. I said "Ma, do you want to move this?" and she was like "No, why?"
So now it is I who am anal! I don't know. I just thought "It's weird to have your nail file just, like, out when your daughter's boyfriend's parents are over, isn't it?"
I said "Well, look, I'll just put this over here on the couch and when you go up to your room you can just bring it up with you."
Verbatim. I said verbatim what she used to say to us.
Absurd.
I assumed the vacuum activities so she could calm down, all the while trying to understand how my Mother went from an organized, anal, obsessed-with-cleanliness person to this. The house was a mess, and I was slightly concerned, but moreso with the change in my folks. They don't even have food in the house anymore. I imagine this is some sort of side effect from wanting-to-move.
I cleaned, put things in piles, drank 40 glasses of water, had nervous fits, and couldn't unlock the door when the doorbell rang.
They walked in and exchanged introductions.
While my Mother talked to various aunts about her doll collections (who knew they had this in common?) and with D's Mother about his not eating enough vegetables, Father showed software to D's Father and they exchanged business cards and were both thrilled to learn that they were both PE's! Wow! I showed the aunts and D's Mother some photos. I had, on a whim, brought two photo albums - one with photos from Buenos Aires and another with a random collection of photos I've taken during the last six months, complete with photos from my trip to Orlando.
D's Mother was happy to see photos I'd taken of her granddaughters, and I was peeved to learn that D had not sent the photos to her or to his brother. I had been slightly distressed that they never commented on them or thanked me for them. I have to admit that the photos are good - so I was surprised that they had nothing to say. Well, they had nothing to say because they'd never seen them. Hmph.
The Aunts and D's Mother loved the photos of the grandchildren, and thought my photography was good. Sweet!
Then came the awkward but necessary portion of the visit when my parents volunteer me to play piano for the guests!
This always reminds me of period pieces in which visitors arrive and the eldest daughter, who is shy and spinsterly but who plays lovely piano, has to sit down and play piano while the women gossip and the men smoke and talk business. Of course she is then noticed by the young gentleman visitor who is in town tidying up his deceased grandmother's estate or something.
Nevertheless... throughout history, this has been me, and throughout history I have resisted and thrown fits because I, as you all know, can't play piano in front of people. I can't really do anything in front of people. Insecure, nervous, worried.
I said "I'd love to, but I have no sheet music here," which was actually the truth.
My Mother said "No! Play 'Lullaby!' I heard you playing it this morning and it was lovely." Yes, I'd been playing it but I don't actually know it. I was just improvising when I noticed that D had fallen asleep while listening to me play. You can't improvise in front of two sets of parents and three aunts when you have heart-attack-inducing-fear-of-public-anything.
"What about Chopin's 'Etude'?" D's eldest aunt said, and then she hummed a bit.
"I don't know... I knew it once... but I haven't played it in years and there is no sheet music here."
I said I'd see what I could find, and voila! The only sheet music I had remaining at my parents' house was Chopin's "Etude." What are the odds?
I played it. I shook the whole time and butchered it. I don't think the audience noticed. I think D was proud.
Surreal, I tell you. Surreal.
We headed into Boston after our parents exchanged enthusiastic farewells, where we ate a late lunch at Fire and Ice. We were joined by Sister (so nice to see her!) and then walked around the Harvard campus, where D's Mother and Aunts took pictures with the statue of John Harvard. We headed into the city via the Red Line and walked through the Common and Public Gardens. We then headed to the Esplanade to walk along the river but ended up running to the T because it was pouring. The temperature had dropped about 20 degrees since the morning and the family wanted to "see Boston" but what do you do in one hour in annoying weather? I had no idea. I kept saying "What do you want to do?" and they were like "We don't know. We've never been here." I said "You really need, like, a day." D's father kept saying "They just want to take pictures" which is why I decided on the Common because - The State House! Cheers! Pretty flowers! The Hatch! I said "You really should come back and walk the Freedom Trail. That would be nice."
Yeah. I think they hated Boston. But its not my fault, because how can you see a city in two hours on a gross day? Not my fault!
Nice Weekend That Shouldn't Have Been Nice - Part 1
I had to make an unexpected trip to MA this weekend.
D and I headed up on Friday night, hoping to engage in some fabulous meteor gazing in my parents' backyard. Our plan was foiled by blocked skies, but we were still able to enjoy the country air and silence. I miss crickets. I really need to find a white noise radio thing that sounds like crickets, with the occasional lawn mower at around 8:30am that plays only on Sundays.
We borrowed my father's car on Saturday morning and headed down to RI, where we attended a memorial service. It was nice to see D's family, and it was even more nice to see D be human. D is perfectly put together, never flustered, never bothered, never compromised. I shouldn't say that it was nice to see him sad, but it was nice, for me, to feel like we have something in common. It was nice to experience this sort of thing together. It made me feel close to him when his voice cracked, and it made me feel like I mattered to him when he held my hand tightly.
After the service, D's mother said "We were thinking of going into Boston tomorrow. We were thinking you could show us around. We were thinking of stopping in Medway first to see your parents."
Whoa.
I had many thoughts about this in the following order:
1. They want to meet my parents? It's too soon!
2. Why do they want to meet my parents!?
3. I don't feel like this is the right time! It's too soon!
4. That's so freaking serious!
5. Aren't parents supposed to meet when things are serious?
6. Don't parents meet after some sort of engagement?
7. Wait - they want to meet MY parents?
8. Why do they want to meet MY parents?
9. Wait! Maybe they want to meet my parents because they actually like me and want to know my family!
10. Wait! This is a sign of acceptance, isn't it? Like they are admitting that I am dating their son and that perhaps I am a permanent fixture!
11. Wait! This is wicked awesome!
12. Wow! I am so moved that they want to meet my parents! This is actually really sweet of them!
13. Although slightly bizarre because they just declared that they are dropping by my parents' house.
14. This is great! I can't believe they want to meet my parents!
15. Now. How am I going to tell my mother, who cannot be at all spontaneous and who freaks out about the idea of anyone at all, even D, coming by the house, that D's parents and three aunts are coming over tomorrow?
After many secret meetings at the after-service-reception, we came up with an overly complicated plan for them to meet us in Medway after they went to church, after my parents had returned from church, after which they would follow us, by car, to Harvard Square to see Harvard, which they were really excited about. As D's father said "It's not so much that they want to experience Boston, they just want to take pictures. They want to say 'Look! Here I am at Harvard!' or 'This is me with the State House in the back of the photo.'"
When I called my mother and said "We are all going to Boston tomorrow! You should come!" she immediately responded with "NO!"
It wasn't planned and therefore it cannot occur. Plus, it involves the city. Ewww.
I then said "Oh, well, in that case, well, um, D's parents would like to, umm... well, see, they'd like to drop by the house to meet you."
"They want to meet us? Why?"
I tried to brush it off as extremely casual and mostly a drop-by (which is what it was - it was more of an organizational tactic than something dramatic and full of pressure), and said "Yeah, no food or anything. They're just going to stop by for a few minutes."
My mother, of course, got nervous. I said "I'll call you later" and then did just that on our way back from RI.
I said "Look, ma, I know this is sort of strange and unexpected and you don't need to freak out and this really means a lot to me and realistically there's never going to be an opportunity for you to meet them again and I really think its a nice thing that they want to meet you so nobody is going to worry about this."
She was, predictably, worried about the state of the house. She hadn't vacuumed! The sink is a mess! There's stuff everywhere! M and AM's stuff is all over the place! She doesn't want them to think that the house is a mess!
What entertained me was the extent to which D was worried. After I came to the realization that they wanted to meet my parents because they now acknowledge my existence, I couldn't be anything but blissful about it.
D, however, was nervous! This was new too. I kept asking him what he was nervous about. I kept saying "They're going to like each other. Our parents are exactly the same people! My mom is adorable, your mother is adorable. Yeah, Father is weird but you know, they're both engineers. They'll probably start calling each other on the phone and will eventually become best friends and then we'll feel weird about that." I decided, after watching him be nervous, that what was worrying him was being exposed. D values his privacy, values his mystery, and now my parents would know his parents. Too much information. Too invasive. This could, gasp, led to his being understood.
We grabbed dinner with my parents on Saturday night and retreated to my brother's room after the sad day. We discussed the plan for the following day and discussed ways to minimize parent-related stress. We decided that instead of rushing through the Boston photo tour, we'd take the 10:00pm train from 128 that would have us back in NYC by 2am. We had tickets for the 6:55pm train. I said "D, we should probably call just to make sure we can use the 6:55 tickets on the 10:00 train." "I'm sure we can." "I'm sure we can, too, but we should call just to make sure we get a spot." "It's a 10:00 train. It's not going to be sold out." "Yeah, but maybe we should just call. You know. Just to make sure. I just want to, you know, know that we have a way home." "Don't worry about it," he said.
Because D is chill and composed and because things work out for him, I trusted him and didn't worry.
We fell asleep instantly, drained from the day's activities.
D and I headed up on Friday night, hoping to engage in some fabulous meteor gazing in my parents' backyard. Our plan was foiled by blocked skies, but we were still able to enjoy the country air and silence. I miss crickets. I really need to find a white noise radio thing that sounds like crickets, with the occasional lawn mower at around 8:30am that plays only on Sundays.
We borrowed my father's car on Saturday morning and headed down to RI, where we attended a memorial service. It was nice to see D's family, and it was even more nice to see D be human. D is perfectly put together, never flustered, never bothered, never compromised. I shouldn't say that it was nice to see him sad, but it was nice, for me, to feel like we have something in common. It was nice to experience this sort of thing together. It made me feel close to him when his voice cracked, and it made me feel like I mattered to him when he held my hand tightly.
After the service, D's mother said "We were thinking of going into Boston tomorrow. We were thinking you could show us around. We were thinking of stopping in Medway first to see your parents."
Whoa.
I had many thoughts about this in the following order:
1. They want to meet my parents? It's too soon!
2. Why do they want to meet my parents!?
3. I don't feel like this is the right time! It's too soon!
4. That's so freaking serious!
5. Aren't parents supposed to meet when things are serious?
6. Don't parents meet after some sort of engagement?
7. Wait - they want to meet MY parents?
8. Why do they want to meet MY parents?
9. Wait! Maybe they want to meet my parents because they actually like me and want to know my family!
10. Wait! This is a sign of acceptance, isn't it? Like they are admitting that I am dating their son and that perhaps I am a permanent fixture!
11. Wait! This is wicked awesome!
12. Wow! I am so moved that they want to meet my parents! This is actually really sweet of them!
13. Although slightly bizarre because they just declared that they are dropping by my parents' house.
14. This is great! I can't believe they want to meet my parents!
15. Now. How am I going to tell my mother, who cannot be at all spontaneous and who freaks out about the idea of anyone at all, even D, coming by the house, that D's parents and three aunts are coming over tomorrow?
After many secret meetings at the after-service-reception, we came up with an overly complicated plan for them to meet us in Medway after they went to church, after my parents had returned from church, after which they would follow us, by car, to Harvard Square to see Harvard, which they were really excited about. As D's father said "It's not so much that they want to experience Boston, they just want to take pictures. They want to say 'Look! Here I am at Harvard!' or 'This is me with the State House in the back of the photo.'"
When I called my mother and said "We are all going to Boston tomorrow! You should come!" she immediately responded with "NO!"
It wasn't planned and therefore it cannot occur. Plus, it involves the city. Ewww.
I then said "Oh, well, in that case, well, um, D's parents would like to, umm... well, see, they'd like to drop by the house to meet you."
"They want to meet us? Why?"
I tried to brush it off as extremely casual and mostly a drop-by (which is what it was - it was more of an organizational tactic than something dramatic and full of pressure), and said "Yeah, no food or anything. They're just going to stop by for a few minutes."
My mother, of course, got nervous. I said "I'll call you later" and then did just that on our way back from RI.
I said "Look, ma, I know this is sort of strange and unexpected and you don't need to freak out and this really means a lot to me and realistically there's never going to be an opportunity for you to meet them again and I really think its a nice thing that they want to meet you so nobody is going to worry about this."
She was, predictably, worried about the state of the house. She hadn't vacuumed! The sink is a mess! There's stuff everywhere! M and AM's stuff is all over the place! She doesn't want them to think that the house is a mess!
What entertained me was the extent to which D was worried. After I came to the realization that they wanted to meet my parents because they now acknowledge my existence, I couldn't be anything but blissful about it.
D, however, was nervous! This was new too. I kept asking him what he was nervous about. I kept saying "They're going to like each other. Our parents are exactly the same people! My mom is adorable, your mother is adorable. Yeah, Father is weird but you know, they're both engineers. They'll probably start calling each other on the phone and will eventually become best friends and then we'll feel weird about that." I decided, after watching him be nervous, that what was worrying him was being exposed. D values his privacy, values his mystery, and now my parents would know his parents. Too much information. Too invasive. This could, gasp, led to his being understood.
We grabbed dinner with my parents on Saturday night and retreated to my brother's room after the sad day. We discussed the plan for the following day and discussed ways to minimize parent-related stress. We decided that instead of rushing through the Boston photo tour, we'd take the 10:00pm train from 128 that would have us back in NYC by 2am. We had tickets for the 6:55pm train. I said "D, we should probably call just to make sure we can use the 6:55 tickets on the 10:00 train." "I'm sure we can." "I'm sure we can, too, but we should call just to make sure we get a spot." "It's a 10:00 train. It's not going to be sold out." "Yeah, but maybe we should just call. You know. Just to make sure. I just want to, you know, know that we have a way home." "Don't worry about it," he said.
Because D is chill and composed and because things work out for him, I trusted him and didn't worry.
We fell asleep instantly, drained from the day's activities.
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