The Kids Are All Right

Last night, I ventured to the Upper East Side to catch one of the summer's biggest movies (well, in my world anyway). And no, I didn't gorge myself on another viewing of Sex and the City 2. This evening's feature was The Kids Are All Right, the new lesbian-family comedy starring Annette Bening and Julian Moore. The film centers on a close-knit, non-traditional family living in sunny California. Bening and Moore play mothers to two children, their oldest, a girl named after Joni Mitchell, about to venture off to college. At the prompting of her younger jock brother, Lazer (played by future heartbreaker Josh Hutcherson), Joni sneaks into her mothers' private papers in order to contact the sperm bank from which she and her brother received half of their chromosomes (imagine, a bank that deals solely in sperm). Following some secretive phone calls, their father is none other than Mark Ruffalo, still looking affably boyish, a restauranteur playboy who also likes to play gardner. Upon meeting their "Dad," the reluctant Joni finds a kindred spirit in her supposed father, while Lazer finds disappointment in his would-be male role model (though to be honest, Annette Bening does a fine a job at that - but more on that later). Before anyone knows it, Ruffalo is having dinner at their home, popping up on their iPhones, and eventually giving Moore's new gardening business its first "gig." The film is funny, witty, lavish in color and detail without being a special-effects epic or mere showcase for spectacle. The film shares a kindred spirit with the mise-en-scéne of fellow female director/writers Nancy Meyers (Something's Gotta Give, It's Complicated) and Nora Ephron (Julie and Julia), living in a world of candle-lit silhouettes, traipsing with interesting, personalized costume choices, and frame after frame and sumptuous looking food. This film (and the others mentioned) carry a certain, undeniable feminine look, soft, balanced, the beauty of a quiet blooming flower rather than the booming and stormy energies behind the works of Polanski, Scorsese, etc. (though my own little theory/assumption is delightfully overturned by Kathryn Bigelow's heartbreakingly stark The Hurt Locker).

Bening and Moore are at their finest as the power-lesbian couple, a pairing of two of America's finest and most sensitive actresses. They are also perhaps the two most deserving actresses, yet to win an Oscar (how, how can Hillary Swank have 2 Oscars, and these women have none). Though it's a little early to start playing the Oscar prediction game, one can relish in the fine work of this film's two leading ladies. Bening is stunning as the slightly butch Nic, a gynecologist with a booming career (at times a detriment to her relationship with partner Jules) and a taste for red wine. Looking and acting older than her lover, Bening captures a woman beginning to slowly lose touch with her children and her lover, the family she has worked so hard to build momentarily falling apart around her. One of my favorite and perhaps the most heartbreaking moment in the film occurs when Nic discovers that perhaps a little more than gardening has been happening at sperm-donor Paul's sprawling villa. Bening has been high-powered, high-strung career women for years, often to stunning results (note her two previous Oscar nominations), and while Nic certainly does share a thread with American Beauty's Carolyn or even the title character from Being Julia, Nic seems distinctly more balanced, more loving, less selfish and less controlling than these other women. Moore delights as the slightly loppy, hip Jules, the younger, "lipstick" partner, part stay-at-home Mom and part wandering career woman. While Bening typifies the 21st century power lesbian mother, Moore creates a character that is distinctly womanly, her matter of orientation a secondary characteristic. Her children about to leave the house and with no steady career to draw self-worth from, Jules is curious, restless, looking for some adventure in middle-age (and boy does a rugged looking Mr. Ruffalo give her just that).

This a unique film, and though not a big Hollywood release or popcorn blockbuster, it certainly lives in the mainstream, readily available to both metropolitan and middle America. While most of popular Queer and Gay cinema centers on gay men (Milk, Brokeback Mountain, Philadelphia) or men dressing as women (The Birdcage, Two Wong Foo, Priscilla Queen of the Desert), this is a woman's film, a film about two women in love, but more interestingly two women in love with a family. The film does not center on a battle of gay/straight or matters of acceptance or Pride pageantry, but rather tells the story of a modern family, growing and in transition. This is not necessarily a new story (Mom is getting older; the children leave the nest), but is told in a new way, a new setting that continues a greater portion of American family units. While we have not seen this story on the screen before, surely similar situations have happened to the children of gay parents before. The film flips our expectations, the parents gay and the children straight, a feeling of normalcy given to what was once queer. How refreshing to hear a story about homosexual people that does not center on AIDS, hate crimes, or drugged induced club experiences. This film (and surely many others that I have never seen) diversifies the canon of gay works, telling a new story that has certainly been there the entire time. How exciting to live at a time when we can go to the mainstream cinema and watch The Kids Are All Right or tune in to a weekly episode of Modern Family on ABC. This film is funny and brimming with feeling, heartfelt but not requiring too much tissue, a refreshing break from the cymbal crash of traditional summer blockbusters.

I Missed the Bus

It happened again. I missed the bus. I knew when the bus was leaving. My e-ticket clearly said which corner to be at, to be there 15 minutes, and to have my reservation number in hand. Somehow I found myself running to the wrong corner hoping the bus was running late, only to find an empty sidewalk devoid of fellow travelers and no sign of the Megabus. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be? Perhaps God was keeping me from some hidden dangers in North Central PA or teaching me a lesson about following directions. Or maybe I am just late everywhere I go? Yesterday, it was my intention to visit my former castmates at the Millbrook Playhouse to check out their current production of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Instead, I spent most of the day in my room watching movies. Perhaps my current movie-binge has turned into a real addiction, trapping in my house and separating me from human contact. I'm going to go see a movie tonight (with a friend, in a theater!). This could be a real problem. So, friends and family at the Millbrook Playhouse, I apologize I teased you with a surprise visit. Looks like we will have to wait until you all return to New York or I return next summer for more work. My first missed Megabus experience when my dear friend Matthew and I attempted a venture to Chicago during Spring Break (we eventually made it). At least that time we saw the bus pulling away. I was really looking forward to that bus ride too! I had my book, ready to finish, a magazine, and a play. Having actually made it on the bus once (Aaron and Boston, you are very lucky!), I was planning to take full advantage of their unlimited Wi-Fi and outlets. Instead, I finished my book on the exercise bike at the gym this morning and hauled my backpack and pillow to Midtown for nothing. It's one thing to miss your bus, it's another displeasure to haul your crap to and from Midtown during morning rush hour. Pillow and backpack, I found myself a sweaty, hair-gelled mess as the sun was rising. On my shameful walk back to the subway, I managed to pass two lines of homeless, getting their morning rations from the local churches. I returned home ashamed and afraid. This afternoon I watched The Accused with Jodie Foster and knew exactly how that poor girl felt. So, now I am in New York, the hour not long past when I would returned theatre-d and hungover from Pennsylvania, my phone and camera full of drunken inspired tech-bites. "Well maybe, next year." "Send in the Clown" indeed.

Bradley From the Broad Meadow, Part 2

A month and a half, give or take. That's how much time I have taken away from this blog. During that time, I completed my contract at the Millbrook Playhouse, made a lot of new friends, and returned to New York to a Heat Wave, a new manager, and a lot wondering as to what my next move will be. I decided, semi-consciously, to take a break from this blog, this vehicle that has chronicled the first part of my New York journey, in part so that I could entirely immerse myself in my PA theatre experience, and in part because I felt fatigued, out of ideas, in a rut. Now, I may be back in New York, but out of the rut I am not sure. Certainly, this is a time of transition for me. As I near my one-year anniversary in the City, I am no longer a newbie, a tourist; I am no longer "trying it out." In the past few weeks, I have been contemplating how long I will stay in New York, what my next move will be. While that previously mentioned move remains to be seen, for the time being it will not be away from New York. After all, I feel I just got here. Having had a year to acclimate to the city and truly dirty hands with "the business," let's see how far I can go, how hard I can push myself to work towards my dreams, to achieve greater artistic vision and clarity, to be a better me, to entrench myself in this city, this business, and the fabulous people I run into. I have been maxxing out my Queens Public Library Card, renting movies both new and old, trying to keep up with what's happening now and what has come before (I have made serious headway on AFI's 100 Greatest Movies List), and searching the stacks for literary inspiration, running the gamut from Carson McCullers to Chelsea Handler (now, that's a English seminar course, I'd like to take). My ears have been searching for new music, both for listening and performing, looking to add songs to both my book and my iPod. After my pre-Tony binge, I am looking to go to the theater again, but hoping to venture off The Great White Way and see what New York's smaller theaters have to offer. I am buying and reading plays, learning the new authors and searching for monologue material. I think it's ironic I recently filled up and cashed in my Drama Bookstore Frequent Customer Card, a month shy of its one year expiration date.

I am in transition. As my family and I move from our time of grief (does grief ever end?), the initial period of shock, of constantly retracing steps, clinging to conversations, looks, texts, we venture out into the world again, somewhat scared, but strangely stronger and at peace. Under the hot summer sun the past months, I have allowed myself to let loose of some of my walls, to let some of the grief and sadness melt away, to surrender to my own profound brokenness. I feel like new skin after the scab has gone away, new and complete, but still fragile, sensitive, and red. While I was in Pennsylvania, I didn't share the tragic story of my sister's death with many people. Still, it's hard to think about, too hard to fathom, to attempt to get my mind around. Though I'll never stop sharing memories of my sister, for now, I prefer to stop the story in December 2009, not January 2010. With the exception of a minor breakdown on our closing weekend, I kept my grief to myself, not out of shame, but because I have chosen to not let this one tragic event define my life ongoing. No doubt it has and will shape, color, and rattle my little world, but I refuse to wallow in my grief, to hold it like a crutch for the rest of my life. In short, I choose to live my life, live the kind of life my sister so generously reveled in every step of the way. Looking ahead, one of my oldest and dearest friends is about to have her first child (now, how did I get so old that people are having babies?), and I couldn't be more thrilled. It is time to celebrate, to rejoice, for new life and new hope.

I am in transition professionally. As I look for work again in the city, I am attempting to challenge myself as a performer, to work as an artist, and to be my own business. How far can I go? How much energy can I put out? How much noise can I make? For now, I am looking for my next big break, but also contemplating creating opportunities of my own. Who knows what could be just beyond the horizon? As for Locale, the near-constant since I have been in New York, I am back to the grind, though the grind has not been near as back breaking. Now, sure, summer and a little vacation definitely help keep the work blues away, but there is one big factor at play - STEFANO FINALLY GOT FUCKING FIRED! While away in hilly PA, the owners sought to it to replace their oily Italian buffoon with a younger, hipper, female manager. Though she and I are still becoming acquainted with one another, I can see things are going to run more smoothly and be more enjoyable for all involved. With some new fancy cocktails and unique beers and cheeses, I feel very at peace with my current employer. Let's hope this feeling finds no end soon, and we can all focus on taking care of customers (people whom for the most part I genuinely enjoy), rather than running from our drunken Italian dictator. As I have seen many of my co-workers come and go, I can only say in summation: Survivor: Locale - Outwit, Outplay, Outlast.

It's good to be back, and I hope to write soon.

Susquehana Mama

As my life has been abundant with travels far and wide, it is only appropriate I chronicle my recent bus trip to Mill Way, PA. Dazed from my recent return and departure from Indiana, reeling from matters of lost luggage (now found) and mixed-up sublets (now straightened out), I made my way to the Port Authority Bus Terminal early Sunday morning, ready to embark on my theatrical journeys. The trip began in tranquil fashion, a grand total of three of us departing from New York (though others would soon join). I adjusted my pillows, spread my legs and blanket, and settled into my seat for the 7+ hour trip, luckily finding sleep as we traveled westward. As the morning gave way to noontime, our bus became more and more populated, weary travelers making their way through New Jersey and Pennsylvania. After about 4 hours on the bus, a toothless wonder I have deemed the Susquehanna Mama, mounted the bus and soon after launched into one of the more impressive monologues I have given witnessed. After approaching the bus driver to ensure that she was indeed in the right place, she made her entrance, clad in tank top, pony tail, bitchin' sunglasses, and even a sweater wrapped around her shoulders (a lady after all). Immediately attaching herself to the young gentleman seated behind her (thank God I was asleep or adequately "disinterested looking"), she began telling him the better part of her life story. Toothless mouth a flapping, she modeled the great finds she had recently purchased at the local CVS, little things to help her kids know they love them. Who knew one's love of the Dollar Store could run so deep? Hey, she may not be perfect, but she does what she can to be a good mom! "You don't got a girlfriend, do you? Mind if I call you sometime? I don't got too many friends, you know, and I get along better with guys. I mean I ain't got no man or anything, I mean my baby-daddy, but he's not really in the picture, so it's not a big deal. Now, here's my married name, but sometimes I go by my maiden name as well. So, if I call you, you aren't gonna pretend you don't know me, right?" It was then that I realized I was coming dangerously close to West Virginia. Toto, we are not in the city anymore. Apparently her ticket was being for via the hospital (???), but my fellow horrified city clicker dramatist and I were not able to accurately piece together that aspect of her story. It was only after our talking traveler left that I dared look at her unlucky victim. A look of relief and wonder spread across his face, indicating that he indeed did not know this woman, nor would he be calling her anytime soon (apparently he gave her a wrong number as well - ballsy). Now, how did he get so instantly friendly with this Appalachian Amazon. Smoking. One shared cigarette led to what would undoubtedly be one of the more terrifying experiences of my life. Remember kids, smoking kills. The rest of the ride was fairly uneventful, our bus making it to the Williamsport station before transferring on to Lock Haven. Along the way, we did pick up a couple of other theatre gypsies, one director, two carpenters, an electrician, and one actor (me) in total. Now, here I am, in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, energies completely focused on theatre for the first time since school. Strange faces soon becoming familiar, who knows what tales I will have to tell about my new company/family and the show we are contracted to create.

In Defense of "Sex 2"

These past few weeks have seen me busily preparing for my current summer stock gig, cramming in voice lessons and plays, finishing out my final shifts at Locale, and spending a much needed week back in the Broad Meadow. During this time of coming and going, I fortunately had the chance to catch this year's edition of Sex and the City. After an early morning audition, my friend Alissa and I snuck over to the Regal Cinema in Times Square to get some opening-day Sex before noon. Now, I must admit, I am a huge Sex fan. I love the TV show, I loved the first movie, and everyday I try to more and more channel my inner Samantha. No doubt my recent transplant to New York was in at least some way prompted by this monumental series. After all, while the series certainly centers on the four ladies' love lives, it also chronicles their love affair with New York (it is indeed called Sex and the City, not Sex in the City). So, I may be the least bit biased to this treasured series. However, since its debut, this desert-clad movie has received nothing but flack, bad reviews, and even some unwanted wrinkle counting. While I am not foolish enough to deem this early summer blockbuster (it has already grossed over $100 million worldwide) a cinematic masterpiece, it is a film that I believe should be watched and celebrated. Not meant as some great dramatic piece, social commentary, or special effects wowzer, the film relies on its fabulous destinations, both exotic and domestic, its star studded cast (not to mention glittery cameos), and witty dialogue (while it may be short on plot, it is stacked with zingers) to capture audiences. Many critics have condemned the film's shameless glam and excess, deeming it inappropriate during our current economic downturn. However, as Samantha says during an opening scene, "This recession has been a bitch, and I'm tired. We're going on a fucking vacation!" And you know what, I couldn't agree more. The film is camp, it is kitsch, it is fun. This sometimes silly ladies run around in pretty clothes, lapping up luxury, and continually getting themselves into the most ridiculous of situations - what's not to love? My friend and I were nothing but laughs for the good part of the film's two hours, our fellow audience members joining us in belly laughs and cat calls. In fact, the lady next to us had snuck away from work in order to catch the flick. Why not join these four ladies on their dessert escape? It should be noted that this is probably one of the strongest casts in the summer blockbuster landscape (because who really goes to the movies to watch Megan Fox act?), each in roles that play to their strengths and make their stars shine brightest (with the exception of Tony winner Cynthia Nixon, most of the cast has struggled to find success post-Sex). While some of the camp does go a bit overboard (group karaoke numbers tend to leave me feeling the slightest bit uneasy), in generally, the shameless, no holds barred comedy is right on (OK, the giant white bulge was perhaps a little too much; well, not for Samantha). If men can get away with ludicrous humor of this year's Hot Tub Time Machine, who's to say the ladies cannot get into the fun as well? Might I add that most film critics, are (straight) men, not the target audience for a film this, per se. Might these sniveling cinephiles be just a bit intimidated by our sexy sirens? Oh, and there is one more big reason to catch summer's flashiest movie. LIZA MINNELLI. My word, I couldn't breathe. I haven't been that excited, since well, I saw her in the hallway at Chelsea! Now, for those who find more enjoyment from say, John Wayne than Judy Garland, this may not be such a strong draw for you. However, if glitter and legs jive your turkey, you are in for a treat. The legs, the hips, the singing, there she is, Ms. Minelli in the flesh and not missing a beat. Looks like there is life after David Guest after all. "Single Ladies" indeed. So, if you dare, ignore the critics, forget what you have heard, and dawn your highest heels and biggest hat (and whatever other gaudy, flamboyant wardrobe you can find), feel a little bit ridiculous, and head over to put the Sex back in your life.

The Tony's Are Coming! The Tony's Are Coming!

As I anticipate June's coming and my first summer stock gig, another major event is about to commence: The Tony's. Given to Broadway's best each June, I will have actually seen a good chunk of these shows, as opposed to being a clueless spectator in isolated Indiana, all knowledge coming from heresay, blogs, and if you are above the age of 40 (or me), The New York Times. In the musical categories, the current revival of La Cage aux Folles and an original piece Fela! lead the nominations with 11-a-piece. As with the Oscars, I am presented with the monumental and tempting task of attempting to see everything before it closes or I leave for PA. But what to do about all those that have already closed? How could I have missed A View from the Bridge or Time Stands Still (thank God this is one slated to return for a limited run in the fall). And then there's all the shows I'm trying to catch from last year (and the year before and before, etc). I may have made my way to Next to Normal, but what about Billy Elliot? How about those recent big hits Jersey Boys, In the Heights, or Mary Poppins? I know the revivals of Hair, West Side Story, and South Pacific can only run so long. And how about those indomitable titans The Lion King, Mamma Mia!, or The Phantom of the Opera which has made Hal Prince and Andrew Lloyd Webber so much money they'd need to rent out another theater to hold it all? Oi vey! Don't people see I have things to do; I've got to get to the theater!Now being Broadway, we are also presented with the predicament that Broadway shows are much (and usually much, much) more expensive than movie tickets. After freeloading off of as many visitors, relations, and dates as possible, I still find myself with a huge list of "to-see." Now, "You are coming back to New York," you might say, which, as far as I know, is true. But who can foresee the tricky probability that is Broadway openings and closings? Will all the nominees make it to Tony night? And if they are shut out will closing notices immediately follow? Undoubtedly, The Addams Family, which received very few nominations and toilet reviews, will run much longer than even the Toniest of its competition because of its star power and commercial comic-strip appeal. These are the thoughts and decisions mostly running through my head these days. In the past week, I have caught last year's Best Play God of Carnage, Fela!, and Sondheim on Sondheim. Now of course, there are a few things I just have interest in seeing. What is Collected Stories? Why does Sherie Rene Scott have Everyday Rapture (and I'm sorry that's not the feeling her voice usually gives me). While I think a few categories are sure bets (Fela! for Best Musical, La Cage for Best Musical Revival, Fences for Best Play Revival), others are a bit more tricky. My favorite topic of conversation: Best Featured Actress in a Musical. Who will it be? It's a battle of the octogenarians, Lansbury and Cook, two sassy black ladies, one dancing, one singing, and one drunk, who will probably steal the award as she did the show (Promises, Promises). Though, after seeing Sondheim last night, the crowd's love for Barbara Cook, on Broadway for the first time in a long time (her bio reminds you she was a star in the 50's and 60's), may just lift the saggy songstress to Tony-dom. In the Best Actress in Musical category, I'm gunning for Catherine Zeta-Jones from Night Music but perhaps one of the unknown upstarts from Memphis, Finian's Rainbow, or Ragtime will take the Tony. Of course, there's always Sherie Renee . . . Let's just hope I have TV access come June 13, otherwise Millbrook may find they have a slightly grumpy Wilbur on deck. The 2010 Tony Awards will be presented live Sunday, June 13 at 8pm. Only on CBS.

Besides stalking the theatre elite, my life has been busy with work, late night munchies, and planning for my big trip. This week we had an unofficial read through of Hairspray which I am getting more and more excited about. I have been to a few auditions and even mozied over to Uncle Charlie's, singing an array of toons and forgetting my book. Despite an inopportune jackhammer, things have been going pretty well; the sun is (mostly) shining, and I feel I have finally fully shaken off my winter sleepiness and blues. The city, too, seems to be returning to life, our restaurant busier, tourists aplenty, and street fairs popping up on the street. Hungry and confused, I was recently a victim to Colombian street fair food, arriving in Astoria $15 poorer and full of tamales and rice. Let's hope my trip to PA sees me not only embrace my artistic side, but also locate the gym and vegetables, friends I seem to have lost contact along the way. No theatre tonight, as I am off to work, but who knows that next week's excitement may bring.

Bradley in Boston

The rain and gray have returned to New York as our temperature dial keeps frantically switching from HOT to COLD and back and forth. Deciding to once again defy the weather's attempts to keep me in bed, I journeyed to Washington Heights for another lesson with my wonderful and patient vocal coach, Will. This past week has been another busy one, despite my efforts to as little as possible. After two consecutive closing shifts (i.e. lots of quality time with Locale and Stefano), I braved a Mother's Day Double. Running food and coaxing families, I had a hard time getting going, in part because of my late nights, but also due to the nature of Sunday's holiday. My thoughts were on home, on my family (it was 4 months from that fateful day, just in case anyone has forgotten), and of course my mom. I felt guilty for not being home, not calling (my butt just was not ready to be up before church hour), and bitter towards those that got to be spending the day with their loved ones. As soon as I walked in the restaurant it was packed, and I quickly got to work. Luckily, it was very busy that day, so I had little time to sulk over my own thoughts, needing to instead concentrate on toast preferences and egg options, not to mention all those specials (tomato gazpacho, rigatoni with spinach and tomato, apple nutella waffle, steak omelette, crabcake benedict, chicken marsala, hanger steak, shrimp tempura panini, oh yes I am that good). Deciding to release my anger, because no one wants to work with a Grumpy Gus, I plunged into the world of Mother's Day, charming the moms, complimenting their youth, keeping their cup full, etc, etc. I served Asian mommies, Greek mothers, Dominicans, Filipinos, Colombianas, and even a few good old-fashioned Americans. During dinner I became quick friends with a mom after my own heart a.k.a. a Belvedere (classy=pricey) vodka martini, dry with a lemon twist. We talked food and Paula Deen and movies, her recommendation to me being Babette's Feast (to her family: "I know he'll like it, we have a connection!"). As I served all those moms and their (sometimes obnoxious) families, it boosted my spirits to know that I was helping to give a special Mother's Day to these people, even if I couldn't do the same for my mom that day. Though it's been said before, and it's something that I begrudgingly know is true, you really do help yourself when you help others, that by putting yourself in the position of servitude (no, I'm not talking about that), it gives one a sense of peace of pleasure. I find that one of the most satisfying parts of my job (besides getting paid, because that is why I show up everyday), is when I can show people a good time, when they are responsive to my service (as opposed to when they are rude or dismissive). It was a long, somewhat stressful day, but we made it through, and even had enough energy for a drink after work (a dry, vodka martini with a twist of course).

Changing directions and locations, I travelled to Boston on Monday to visit my good friends Aaron and Chrstina. After a near miss, I made it onto the Megabus Monday morning, settling into my seat and cranking my iPod. Though it certainly was not the warmest day of this spring, the brisk weather was cut by some nice sunshine and the excitement of being in a new city (not too mention the new sweater I just got a deal on at the Gap - 45% off, how could I not?). After snaking through South Station's many levels of stairs, we jetted onto the T, Boston's (wannabe) subway system and descended into Harvard Square, the site of Aaron's even-higher education. Once I dropped off my two old lady bags in his dorm room (dorms! what a flashback!), we headed over to a neighborhood pub for lunch and beer. We decided the pub was the right decision, because one doesn't want to start the day with hard liquor, and we intended to have a long day of drinking ahead of us; furthermore, while Indian food is delicious, Bradley does not get much mileage out of coma-inducing curried fare. Buzzed and full (jalapeño poppers and jambalaya, yum!), we took to Harvard Square to see the shops and sights, acclimating me to the Ivy League environment. Making a pit stop for coffee, we then subbed it over to Boston Commons, Boston's (wannabe) version of Central Park. After judging people and their dogs, we met up with my Christina, another IU alum. Fresh from a meeting with her lawyer, we decided to immediately begin Happy Hour (though they have no such thing in Boston - damn Puritans!). Three flowery martinis later (it was love at St. Germain, my new favorite liqueur), we were feeling quite good and even soaking up a little sun on the patio. While the sun did not last very long, our buzzes did, especially after Christina and I went for a round sangria, peachy and delicious. Defying the wind with our newfound blood alcohol content, we stopped in at H&M and immediately decided to but matching yellow sunglasses. Now, if I were a smart person or a good tourist, I would have remembered my camera and taken a picture and put it at the top of this blog, but alas. Two drunk purchases later, Christina left us to study, and we walked over for a quick sushi dinner. The food was good, but I must say that it did not hold a candle to Japanee. Oh, Japanee, my heart, my Bloomington. Full, but not too full, of rice and raw fish, we took the train back to Harvard and regrouped before the evening's events. One of Aaron's Harvard buds was celebrating the end of his exams, and so we decided to perform our friendly duties (even though he was a stranger to me) and join him in his libations. It was a bit of an Academy rewind, as our group consisted nerdy, smart boys (Harvard remember), a nice changeup to the hooligans I usually hang out with. I survived the witty and political banter, glad I had decided not to smoke marijuana in college, and felt thoroughly refreshed that I, indeed, do have a brain. After the smart bar, we again mounted the train to Boston, taking a chance on Boston's version of Musical Mondays. The videos were there, the drinks were there, but where were all the people. Though some might think it strange or even ludicrous, New Yorkers see no problem partying their asses off on a Monday night. What a great way to start the week! Apparently, Bostonians have real jobs and do not see things as such. After hitting up another equally sleepy bar, we surrendered to IHOP, stuffing our faces with mozzarella sticks and pancakes before bed. In all, I really enjoyed my getaway to Boston and am planning as many such getaways as time and funds will allow. Being in New York (the center of the world if you have forgotten), I am train or bus trip away from a while myriad of East Coast destinations. Where will I show up next?