I have few words tonight, after watching the absolute horror that occurred today when two bombs went off during the Boston Marathon. Boston is a city I hold dear to my heart. I lived there, went to school there, wandered its streets, rowed on its river, played and lounged in its parks. The Boston Marathon is one I hope to run, one day.
I feel fortunate that all of my friends up there have checked in and are safe, but having lived just a few blocks from where the blast occurred, my heart just breaks for the city, the runners and all those who traveled great distances to participate in what has - for 116 years - been one of the greatest days of the year to be in that beautiful, quaint city.
I know that our better humanity will prevail and that people will band together to care for one another and help each other heal. I just loathe that it always takes such grave tragedy to produce this kind of beauty.
I love you, Boston.
15 April, 2013
01 April, 2013
bus stop
Someone drove over my bus stop. The bus still arrived, so I guess the operators of the DC Metro bus system are smarter than that bus stop wrecker, but still....I arrived today and it was gone, replaced by various car parts, broken side mirror pieces, a mangled crosswalk sign that had been lovingly draped over a tree branch, and some metal fence parts.
Since it's Monday, I can assume that this happened over the weekend when a drunk person careening up Connecticut Avenue veered onto my street and then did not complete the veer and instead tried to visit the Russian embassy via the inside of his or her vehicle. Or maybe it was a Russian on the run, trying desperately to get away from one of the 17 police forces at work in this tiny hamlet and crash to safety inside the embassy gates. Either way, it clearly didn't work and my guess is that the Russian embassy is not stocked with ample staff to retrieve errant ex-pats at the time said accident occurred.
I dated an idiot one time, who liked to tell people that he wasn't drunk when he was three sheets to the wind. Three sheets to the wind, incidentally, is a nautical phrase describing not the sails, but the ropes which secure them, being left to flap in the wind and thus throw the boat helplessly off course. Anyway. He was shitfaced drunk, we were in an argument and he decided in his infinite and self-righteous wisdom, to vehemently proclaim his sobriety, override my desire to walk to the train station and instead drive me there, probably with only one eye open the whole way. As this was in his intensely trashy part of the world, chances are there were many other drunk idiots on the road and we could have all been killed, or crashed up into someone's living room. But I digress.
To his dismay, there was no train to arrive for some hours after that and instead of just chilling out, he decided to hail a cab and send me on my way. I kept my mouth shut at that point, since his decision making skills were on the fritz and took the c bill he offered with a smile on my face. The cab - with generous tip - cost $55 and so I made some money on the deal, which I spent on a pair of shoes at Nordstrom Rack.
And there you have it. Don't drive drunk, kids.
Since it's Monday, I can assume that this happened over the weekend when a drunk person careening up Connecticut Avenue veered onto my street and then did not complete the veer and instead tried to visit the Russian embassy via the inside of his or her vehicle. Or maybe it was a Russian on the run, trying desperately to get away from one of the 17 police forces at work in this tiny hamlet and crash to safety inside the embassy gates. Either way, it clearly didn't work and my guess is that the Russian embassy is not stocked with ample staff to retrieve errant ex-pats at the time said accident occurred.
I dated an idiot one time, who liked to tell people that he wasn't drunk when he was three sheets to the wind. Three sheets to the wind, incidentally, is a nautical phrase describing not the sails, but the ropes which secure them, being left to flap in the wind and thus throw the boat helplessly off course. Anyway. He was shitfaced drunk, we were in an argument and he decided in his infinite and self-righteous wisdom, to vehemently proclaim his sobriety, override my desire to walk to the train station and instead drive me there, probably with only one eye open the whole way. As this was in his intensely trashy part of the world, chances are there were many other drunk idiots on the road and we could have all been killed, or crashed up into someone's living room. But I digress.
To his dismay, there was no train to arrive for some hours after that and instead of just chilling out, he decided to hail a cab and send me on my way. I kept my mouth shut at that point, since his decision making skills were on the fritz and took the c bill he offered with a smile on my face. The cab - with generous tip - cost $55 and so I made some money on the deal, which I spent on a pair of shoes at Nordstrom Rack.
And there you have it. Don't drive drunk, kids.
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