Well, that was kind of a wild weekend.
It started Friday night at Tanjore in Harvard Square scarfing samosa and masala dosa. I think that's my current favorite for Indian food in the Boston area. Is there better?
I guess by some definitions it started Thursday night at trivia at the Six House, but that ended early. And oops, the Thursday leftovers are still in the fridge.
Then there was a drink at Charlie's Kitchen, home to surely the most beautiful bartender in the greater Boston area. It was my first time there, and I think sometime I'll go back and see if she might smile at me again.
It would be good if I do go back to not converse with the 6' 6" 325 LB biker dude bearing the breath of a million dead things. I didn't take the brunt of the breeze, but the periphery was dangerous enough. I also thought the man was going to erupt — he started wobbling, eyes closed, hand over mouth — I would not want to be around for that explosion.
Contemplating the number of beers it must have taken to put him in that state is an exercise in BIGNUM for sure.
Next was some waiting for a bus that never showed (what up 66?), then an ill-conceived cab ride into Brighton to Tonic. Did you know it takes like 40 minutes to get from Harvard Square to Brighton? At least that's how long it takes if Iron Maiden is in town. That's right. Iron Maiden traffic brought Comm Ave to its knees. I can't remember the last time I saw so many dudes in Iron Maiden t-shirts. Wait, I can — my last high school dance.
Nothing wrong with Iron Maiden though. We'd actually discussed them earlier with the biker, reminiscing about Powerslave and Eddie. The whole conversation had started with me playing memory aid to the big man by naming Sturgess, which made me remember Kendall (Kyndal?) at Vic's, a biker customer who brought his baristas (me included) each a Sturgess t-shirt, which I wore quite a lot until its relatively recent rebirth as a rag. Some karma.
I don't know if the cab driver was trying to scam us or not. He was a Boston native, wearing a beige sport jacket and keeping up with %'s witty repartee blow for blow. Apparently he's a Belmont bookie, and was headed out to "run the games". If he would have gone the best way, we would have not been trapped in the Maiden. I gave him the address and the cross-streets. What more can you do. We tipped him too much and paid the cover to enter Tonic, where we were made by the hostess, probably because last time we were there, % asked our waitress to marry him.
We'd taken so long to get there that the people we were meeting were on their way out. There was a brief movement to dance downstairs, but that petered out, which was fine by me given that I'm a lover not a dancer and also I was still sporting my equipment (I'm talking about my laptop dude). So instead we put quarters up on the pool table and lost a few games of doubles to some guys who were decent but whom I should be able to beat if I could retrieve my peak. I really need to get my game back; I hate shooting badly.
Tonic inexplicably closes at 1am, so we took YANC around the corner to the White Horse, where we proceeded to do more of what RQ always called "makin' friends". After the White Horse, it was back to Cambridge to wind down.
Tires me out recounting it, better wait till later to log Saturday.
P.S. To the server at Tonic: That was some petty larceny. When someone likely intoxicated hands you obviously the wrong bills, resulting in a $15+ tip on a single round of 4 drinks, don't you think you ought to say something? (We did catch the error before she walked away.)