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
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
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
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.)