Resurrected and Rarin' to go

I felt that gave it a nice little Southern, fire-and-brimstone feel. Witness, then, the almighty power of late night works! Below, a blog revived, in the interest of keeping my lovelies, my chickens, apprised of my activities (those who are so inclined to follow said activities, anyway). Not only will this keep y'all updated, it'll also inspire me to do something worthwhile instead of maintaining the banal, soapboxy and slightly nasal tone of the blog heretofore.
While I'm not quite as cool as that one chick who does the blog about the wine and the music (god, she's more of a francophile than I am; it's fired my feelings of competition, come to think of it, but unfortunately I'm so insecure right now that all that does is make me want to curl up in a little ball and cry with frustration). So I'm just going to have to take note, and find someone to teach me HTML real good. Cause that's what all the "cool" bloggers do.

Is blogging even cool anymore? I suspect I'm behind the times. I mean, I only JUST signed on to MySpace. How lame am I?

To continue: I'm currently living in Boston, in case I haven't told the last remaining people of my acquaintence enough times. There's no interest or excitement in it for anyone but me anymore, and I'm even getting bored with myself. Although I had a sort of highlight today, after going to Hurricane O'Reilly's to watch the WVU game (it's a bar on Canal Street where all the alumni--all 3 of them, today--gather to watch the 'Eers go at it on the green) and eating more than I needed to with a couple alums from New Hampshire, I stumbled upon this open-air farmers' market type spot, right next to the Fleet Center. It was MAGNIFICENT. Hawkers would call out "Dollar a box!" which slurred into "Dollaahbahx!", everyone brusquely doing business with each other, tomatoes and boxes of strawberries, pink cheeked grapefruits (is 3 for $1 a good price? If I hadn't eaten so much, I'd be loaded with produce) and long slim Chinese eggplants---I'm going to start calling them aubergine, though---pomegranates and spices, oh, the spices...little nameless baggies that could have been powdered tempra colored warm reds and yellows, curry and saffron and cardamom and paprika. I leaned over to fondle the bags and check the price as a businesslike boy, no more than 10 or 12, popped out loaded with bagels and bread to ask if he could help me. No, I said, just checking the spices. Tempted as I was to hold them up and inhale deeply, I suspected it wouldn't be okay for the preadolescent proprietor.
I hustled in and out and around all sorts of patrons who were dragging that metal mesh cart, caging in all that food. I can see now why my mother sent me off to the Big City with that cart as an afterthought, crammed in next to all of my other possessions. I have since regretted my disregarding it, walking home from Trader Joe's and the Super 88 with three-plus bags, all threatening to burst at once. I have solemnly sworn to myself to start using it more often. This market would be a good starting place.
Though my blood was stirred and my senses piqued, weaving through the crush of humanity and the fruits of its labor, I found myself at last spit out on the other side of the market, momentum carrying me lonely out onto the pavement towards the T-stop. I passed two couples in traditional African dashikis and turbans, the tall tall women striding on ahead, the man standing back to watch the last's haphazard parking job. I envied them with their established place in the city, so comfortable with where they were that they didn't mind standing out. I feel colorless; the only outpouring of my personality is in my apartment, with my posters on the wall. I miss overflowing with accessories and hues. I am biding my time, waiting to settle, waiting to calm down, just to blow up all over again.

• What I'm Listening To: Nick Drake, Iron & Wine's EP Woman King, K&D Sessions
• What I'm Reading: Anne Enright's What Are You Like, Colm Toibin's The Blackwater Lightship (both for class), and Under the Tuscan Sun (do NOT laugh, it's delightful and refreshing, full of reciepes, not at all like the movie, and makes me want to visit Italy)
• Where I'm Headed: well, home, next weekend; NYC sometime in the not-too-distant future, and to that exhibit at the something theatre about Jewish women and their salons. I want a salon!
• Who I'm Loving: my silly roommate who loves Pottery Barn and decorating our apartment.