Run, Baby, Run

So in running around, I forgot to mention just how much I did run around. Or did I? Me, being a reader, writer, and hoping to be both again-- I like to support those who do. So I drove to Newtonville on my first night to hear J.R. Moehringer--writer of "The Tender Bar"-- read. The bad news? He was sick. There was another writer reading though and I listened to her. Which was good. She was shameless. Also good. And talented. I have her postcard somewhere. I will buy the book later. When funds allow. Then, I ate at Whole Foods. Which was not so different from home. Just a smaller salad bar. And discovered a cool vino store. Called vinodivino. They have a website (vinodivino.com) which tells you nothing yet. But I like them. They do that whole Amazon-ish thing. I think I mentioned them before. I was bummed that I didn't get to hear J.R. Moehringer read. I was really looking forward to it. Really. Oh, well.

Then for the real "run" of it all. See, the night before last I was quite tired. I went to Legal Seafoods directly after work because the Zone bars made me ravenous. Allergies made me tired. And I quite frankly didn't feel like moving. But I needed to eat. So I didn't move. I just walked about five steps from C.O. Bigelow, then sat there at the bar and ate a salad, had a glass of wine and talked to this very cool father about his daughter who likes to write. She's fifteen. He's supportive. He's cool. He lives in Vermont. I told him this and that about writing. Sites and books and things for her. And he told me stuff. It was great to talk to a normal man. So so normal. No agenda normal. Sigh. He actually explained Boston to me. What doesn't work about it for me. In a way I never realized. Sigh. You know what it is? No one laughs. Or else, there's very little laughter. And a lot of reserve. This honesty thing I do? Well, they don't do it. They don't want to and they don't know what to do with people who do. (Although LA isn't jumping up and down about it either, let's be honest). Still, I found it enlightening. So I walked home with a little more lilt in my step. Met a guy outside a bar (smoker...argh) who laughed while I peered in the windows. Then chatted me up. Until I told him I was from LA. That usually helps. Not him. He shut down. Still, the bar looked cool... it was my last night in Boston. So I went back. By myself. And sat there. Until this one guy comes in. Sits next to me. Asks what I want to drink. Then orders his but not mine. Offers to buy me the drink. Then doesn't. Also odd. He was odd. I knew it. But I can hang out with odd. Odd is a story...

Until you're at another bar. You think you're friends. He thinks you're not being affectionate... which you're not with your friends... so he gets upset and tries to maul you. You laugh it off. Until it's last call. And he pushes you up against a wall and kisses you -- really kisses you. And it's the last thing you want. And you're kind of creeped out. Upset even. But you hide it and as luck would have it, he has to go to the restroom. So.... once he's gone. Me? I look at the restroom door. I look at the bouncer. I walk out the door. I see people. Cabs. A general confusion. So I start walking. Then, I start running. Trip. Take off my shoes and run some more. Six blocks more. Luckily, in the right direction. I get to my hotel huffing and puffing. The hotel desk guy? He didn't blink. I checked outside the door. Like I was someone important being followed. Who luckily hadn't been. Then I went upstairs and called a friend. Sometimes, the time difference is a beautiful thing. As is being in shape. And having friends who answer the call.