Public Service Announcement: The students have descended.

Ladies and gentlemen of Boston:

The students are back.

Yes, it's that time of year again... I first noticed it this morning in Cleveland Circle, where I was puzzled by a higher-than-usual number of people wearing overpriced faux-vintage jeans and cargo shorts on a workday morning. And then it hit me... The glorious 2 months of summer when the big kids rule the city are gone, and bars will once again be packed with fake IDs and screeching groups of girls with identical hair and eye makeup, while the nightly line at your favorite takeout place/ice cream haunt/coffee shop triples and the B Line becomes a sweating mass of backwards baseball caps and Uggs. Sigh.

Fortunately, since I'll be living in the Back Bay this year instead of Allston (a.k.a. RIGHT SMACK IN BETWEEN BC AND BU), I anticipate an existence slightly less overrun by underage types. I will miss terrorizing unsuspecting students with the fabulous Laura at T's on Tuesday nights, however. Ah well... I suppose I can always pop over to Whiskey's, which is right next door, if I miss the collegiate scene that much.

And so, fair student-free days of summer, I bid you a tearful adieu. Boston belongs once again to the young, the loud, the drunk, the fratty, the backpack-toting, the obnoxiously full of pseudo-psychological musings, the clique-y, the Urban Outfitter-shopping, the so-hot-but-wait-he's-like-19, the loud cell phone conversation on the T-having, the subway pass-toting, the be-flip-flopped, the party T-shirt-wearing, the a cappella singing, the endlessly Family Guy-quoting, the cheap beer-drinking, the dance floor-hogging, the impeccably groomed and the deliberately disheveled-looking alike: the students.

Hide your Ikea furniture and your cheap vodka. You've been warned.

How To Fight Loneliness

1. Smile all the time.
2. Shine your teeth 'til meaningless.
3. Sharpen them with lies.

...sorry. Like I mentioned before, I've been listening to Summerteeth a lot lately.

The real point is this: I've been in kind of a weird, anti-social funk lately. It's hot and sticky and I haven't been getting enough sleep, and things in general have just been kind of blah in The Life Of Raquel lately. Boo.

The good news: Today I saw something that completely brightened (literally) up my day. A guy got onto the 86 bus today wearing THE ugliest, brightest, most aggressively attention whore-ish sneakers I have EVER seen. I spent forever on the New Balance website trying to find a picture of said shoes, unsuccessfully, but honestly, I don't even think that any picture could truly do justice to the yellow-ness, the mesh-ness, the be-drawstringed-ness, the utter absurdity of these shoes. They were gloriously, unabashedly hideous. The guy, by contrast, was a fairly average-looking dude: tall, decently handsome, dark hair, conservatively dressed in gray shorts and a black polo. But he was wearing these COMPLETELY INSANE shoes. They GLOWED when he walked. He CUT A SWATH OF FLUORESCENT YELLOW as he strolled, it being a humid and overcast day here in Beantown. In fact, I like to think that he took account of the gloomy weather as he got dressed this morning, thinking to himself, "Man, what a gray and disappointing morning... wait! I know! I'm going to wear my BRIGHT YELLOW SHOES. My feet are going to RADIATE LIGHT. Ha! Take that, crappy August weather."

I literally had the biggest smile on my face the whole way to work because of this guy's shoes. Thank you, Anonymous Yellow Shoe Guy. You are truly an inspiration.




[Reality check update: As it turned out, the guy actually got off the 86 at the New Balance factory in Brighton. He may, in fact, only have been wearing the shoes because it's his job to test new products, not because he awoke with the overwhelming urge to defy the weather with his passion for brightly colored footwear. On the other hand, it is fully possible that this gentleman is actually a product DESIGNER for New Balance. Thus, he could, in fact, be the fevered genius whose bold vision and devil-may-care attitude actually brought about the conceptualization, execution, and, finally, the wearing of those magnificent sneakers.

It boggles the mind. I must find this man. And marry him.]


Sox notes coming later... it's an exciting day for the Scarlet Hose!

I'm gonna make you girls a Hump Day treat!

Courtesy of Sandeep:



http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/01/dining/01drun.html?pagewanted=3&8dpc&_r=1



Something to aspire to as you head out for various Wednesday-is-the-new-Thursday-is-the-new-Friday festivities, anyway. My new life's ambition is to swim in the pool of the Four Seasons NYC restaurant.







Also, for my (not your) enjoyment: Things You Learn Riding the T.

1. Trot Nixon still plays for the Red Sox. At least, that's what all the fat, sweaty, drunk bald men riding to Kenmore for the game would have you believe, since ALL of them, to a man, still wear their Nixon jerseys with bloated pride. (The only exception: occasionally, you may see one in a Varitek jersey.) Seriously, guys: It's time to let it go. I, like you, will always hold a special spot in my heart for any member of the 2005 Red Sox. But you don't see me wearing a damn Pedro Martinez jersey to games.


2. Every guy in Boston is too short for me. I don't understand how this continues to be true. I'm only 5'9", for crying out loud. And yet, everywhere I look: short men. And the tall ones are all 19-year-old BC students. This, to me, is the definition of modern tragedy.


3. Only people with really cool hair should own iPods, at least according to the new Apple ad campaigns.


4. Still got it: no matter what I do, I persist in looking really, really unfriendly. Those of you who haven't heard me rant about this before should know that I have an uncanny ability to frighten people away from sitting next to me on the T. The seat next to me can be the only seat open, with like 10 people already standing in the car, and NO ONE will sit next to me. Yesterday, I actually overheard two guys (they thought I couldn't hear, because I had my iPod on [despite the fact that I don't have cool hair], but I DID hear them) who had just gotten on have the following exchange: Guy 1: "Look, there's a seat over there." Guy 2 [looks at the seat, then looks at me]: "Nah, I'll just stand." Wow. I wasn't even WEARING my Bitchy McBitch sunglasses! I've been told time and again that I just give off this vibe of Really Intimidating, and I don't understand it. Maybe I should start carrying around one of those big old-fashioned lollipops, or a puppy or a baby.

You can learn lots of things riding the T. Maybe I'll keep this going. In other news, everyone loses to the Orioles on occasion, and the Sox front office still haven't come out and announced who the Player-To-Be-Named-Later in the Joel Piniero deal is. So I can still hope. And here, without further ado, is the cover to the Memphis Redbirds comic book I was squawking about yesterday. (Hooray for Deadspin!) Rick is kind of hidden in the back, signing autographs and looking sexy. Comic books are fun!

And because I'm feeling kind of rant-y (no Splenda in the break room!), here's a quick entry from the Hate List: People who go to the gym and fucking WALK on the treadmills. While holding on to the handles. I just don't understand it! I guess I'm exposed to more of this since I belong to a chicks-only gym, which, while eliminating the sweaty-guy-breathing-down-your-neck-while-you-use-the-weight-machines factor, definitely ups the wuss factor. I just think, if you're going to spend all that money on a gym membership, that you should get a damn WORKOUT in when you go! Walking on a flat surface while watching "VH1's 100 Best Bodies" (a.k.a. The List Where Terrell Owens Beats Out Heather Graham, But Loses To Ashley Judd) is not a workout. Walking to the grocery store would serve you better. But you'd probably just buy ice cream and cookies, wouldn't you, fatass?

[Note: maybe this is why people don't sit next to me on the T.]