Today’s Score

Local shrew/vole/mouse/bird population: 0
Felix Domesticus Obesus (“Lucy”): 3

I don’t know how she’s doing it, but as of recently, every time we let her out, she kills something. Unfortunately, she’s then leaving it by the back door to decompose.

I count 14.

Here’s a puzzle: How many of the things that I did on Thursday night would, had I described them to my 12-year-old self twenty years ago, either seemed impossible, truly unlikely, or proof positive that I was going to live in The Future someday? Let’s count!

Thursday night I left my job (as a computer geek) a little early and drove to Coolidge Corner, talking with my wife on the phone as I drove. Took the Green Line in from Coolidge Corner to Copley Square to see Doughty with Jeff and Haas (two friends from my greek letter literary society), and Dr. Hanson, too. We sat in the Boston afternoon sun and chatted about this and that until Doughty and his new band came onstage. The mix seemed a little off to me, but it was a blast to see them live, watch Doughty interacting with the crowd and the two homeless guys dancing in front of the speakers, and sit near I.M. Pei’s Hancock Tower. (Some people don’t like it, but I think it’s great. Something about the notch and the way it reflects the light appeals to me a lot.)

Once they were done playing, Haas and I took the subway back to Coolidge Corner for dinner. My cell phone rang while we waited to get into Tsunami. My friend/coworker Chris was working on a problem with our mailers at work, and wanted to consult a bit. I told him I’d call him back after dinner, as it was too noisy to hear inside. Some delicious sushi later (the sweet potato tempura maki is always excellent there, as was the spicy tuna roll, which had something crunchy in it… panko or tempura batter flecks, I couldn’t tell), we walked back to the car. I pulled my laptop out of my bag, fired it up, and discovered that someone in the building we were next to had an unsecured wireless network. Risking arrest and ridicule, I hopped online quickly, sent Chris what tips and tricks I could from the driver’s seat, and then drove Haas home. After that, I went back to Glen’s and spent the rest of the evening splitting my attention between the problems at work (sigh) and a really fun conversation about relationships, food, outdoor gear, and the perfidy of men, with Glen, Sarah, Robin, and Chris, all of whom where dressed to the nines after coming back from dinner at Mistral.

Every once in a while it’s nice to look at where I am and what I’m doing and think, “HOW COOL!”

Good news / Bad news

Good: Went by the RMV to renew my motorcycle registration. (A necessary prerequisite to getting my long-languishing motorcycle out of Glen’s garage.) Got to the Watertown RMV a little after 9, expecting to wait in line for quite a while before getting helped. I walked in, followed the signs to the customer service desk to get triaged, told the nice lady I was there to renew my motorcycle registration after not renewing it last year, and received a flimsy strip of thermal printer paper with the number F802 on it.

Went to sit down on the blond wood benches and felt for my bookmark in “A Confederacy of Dunces.” I hadn’t even gotten the book open when… *BONG* goes the overhead speaker. “NOW SERVING F802 AT COUNTER FOUR.”

Five minutes and twenty-five bucks later, I’ve got a current registration and sticker for my bike. Awesome. I’ve never had a transaction at the RMV go so smoothly and quickly.

Bad: Due to the muzak in the mall, I’ve now got the chorus of “Hooked on a Feeling” looping in my ears. I’m getting very tempted to cut off my head and throw it away to get rid of the damn song.

Indian Food Aftershocks

I love indian food. Love it. Own a bunch of cookbooks about it, have a bag where I segregate out my stinkier indian spices, seek out south indian food when I travel, cook it from time to time. Great stuff.

But. Pretty much every time I eat it, my stomach stays pretty busy for the next 12 hours. Not really upset, per se, but … active. And a lot of times, this means I sleep poorly and have lots of bizarre dreams.

For instance, last night:

  • Out with Kate. Stopped by a gas station. Kate wanted a candy bar. I wanted a Kit-Kat. Hers was $5.05, mine $0.99.
  • At a fancy restaurant, later on. The waiter barely manages to whisk away our ramekins filled with lemon water before we commit the faux pas of dipping our escargot in them. (We were supposed to dip them in the smaller containers of lemon-butter. Oops.) Then some family friends of Kate’s show up and take the other two seats at our table, since the restaurant is full. They give us some belated wedding gifts, including a gorgeous all-wood spaetzle maker which I’m sure doesn’t exist in real life. Imagine if Dana Robes made a spaetzle maker.
  • At Wesleyan for reunion, I have to borrow my mom’s surprisingly cool cell phone to negotiate with the people who currently own my grandfather’s boat, Dovekie about how much it would cost for me to buy her back from them. I woke up very concerned about running up my mom’s phone bill, and it took several minutes to shake the concern and realize that it wasn’t real.

As it was, we went to bed at 10:45, I woke up at 4 with a very full bladder, and tossed and turned until Kate got up at 5:40 to go to work. (Fortunately, the kingsize bed we’re sleeping on is big enough that tossing and turning doesn’t tend to affect Kate much.)

So now it’s a grey day, there are lawn mowers rolling around outside, I’ve got a several very tight deadlines this week as I transition into new job responsibilities, and I feel like I’ve got sand in my brain. Welcome to Monday.