Day Two. Destination: Boston. Began when I woke up at 6am. It’s strange to be waking up and not tending to Rocky, who is at my friend Sarah’s for the week. Teenager wakes at 6:45. She is an easy person to wake up. She doesn’t snap. She lays in slumber until the last possible moment, and is still able to be out the door, as long as I tell her what that time needs to be (today, it’s 7:15). We walk to the subway, take it to Penn, get our morning snacks, board the 8:00am Amtrak train. We are still gun shy from our experience with last weeks’ adventure. So we’re really grateful when things actually happen according to a schedule. We have a momentary flare up when I refuse to sit in the seats just outside the bathroom, but we find a four-top—still a bit too close to the bathroom but in my dawdling, someone else swooped up the seat—that we need to share with a woman wearing funky shoes and we settle in. The Teenager sleeps most of the way to Boston. When she comes to, she’s a bit spicy, but I won’t realize that for a while. We arrive in Boston around noon, take a taxi to the hotel, check in, and run right out. It’s about 12:30. We need to be at the first and only appointment of today at 2, and that place is only five blocks away from the hotel we are staying at. We decide to go for a walk. We stroll by Boston Commons. I decide we should walk to Faneuil Hall. I don’t know Boston at all, so with each step, even with Google Maps, The Teenager is starting to raise questions about where we’re going; she’s not impressed. Still, it’s about 75 degrees and gloriously sunny. I love this weather. And I’m a walking maven. In Paris, for her 13th birthday, the then-Tween and her Tweenage friend Emilia, walked for miles and miles every day, my attempt in sightseeing; they nicknamed me the “walking nazi”; I obviously prefer maven. We get to Faneuil Hall and it’s swarming with tourists, my least favorite situation. I’m cranky; I need to eat. I get myself a burrito. The Teenager abstains, she’s got bigger things on her mind. We go back to Boston Commons, to her 2pm. At 3p, we are back out on the green and the mood is resplendent. She feels happy, I feel happy, we take photos of me jumping, all is good. Now she wants to eat. We find ourselves back at Faneuil Hall. Funny to me of course as in my effort to get suggestions of places to eat, I was specific in how I don’t want to go to Faneuil Hall. She gets a delicious looking grilled chicken sandwich, and she’s animated and she’s eating and this, all this, is good. We head back to the hotel around 5, both of us in need to be prone. She works on her manuscript, for her book, Earth Hates Me (pre-order now!), chapters are due. I lay in quiet. At 6:30, we head to the Island Creek Oyster Bar. I have skirt steak, she has lobster, we both have ice cream. WHAT? Marcelle, I thought you don’t eat sugar, you say? I do for a special occasion, and being in Boston, on a college tour kick off, is something to be celebrated. And so, we wrap up what has been a very long day on a very sweet note. Salut.
Don’t mess with the women in the Marines.
Diane Lane: “Are we asking terribly much of people to be curious and interested in the female experience from the female perspective?”
Designer Maria Cornejo: “It would be great if everybody got a conscience.”
I’d love for someone to explain this stock market stuff to me.
Truly arty women.
Men behaving badly: Sean Spicer being all Hitler and the United Airlines CEO. I don’t even need to link to this nonsense.
More reasons to love the Foo Fighters: they are supporters of Planned Parenthood.
Photographing Margaret Atwood.
Nail repair stuff.
And now have a laugh with Sandra Bernhard.