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many random men spoke to me in passing today; smiled, winked, called me sweetheart. normally this causes me scowl; however, today i slipped up once. i parted my lips and smiled just a crack- no teeth, but just enough to make some 60 year old man's day. did you see that? he nudged his friend, i made the little lady smile, she smiled! but let's face it folks, it's fucking humid out and i am a sweaty summer-time sicilian. mm alliteration. i'd conjecture that such attention has less to do with the beauty of my greasy brow and frizzy hacidic jew curls, and a whole lot more to do with the fact that today i was wearing a skirt which looked more like something to be worn underneath an actual skirt for modesty i.e. a 1940s bathtub gin-miss hannigan slip.

today feels unusual again. i wish so much that the sky would blacken and open up and unleash a hellish storm on this city, cooling us once and for all. that is, until tomorrow. the air is electric; i hope to wake up in the middle of the night to thunder and lightening and the sound of rain on window glass. i always love that, as much as i love only half-remembering the fright of it in the morning time. and what a glorious mark of the summer season; if only i could hear my crickets.

it is about that time of week where my brain has turned into a soft pool of stupid. i've somehow, in the midst of such idiocy, just managed to download WinRar and finally convert the hordes of music i had collecting electronic dust into audible formats. the achievement of this is grand not only because i am technologically retarded, but also because rufus wainwright's new album is now successfully ripping my heart out of my ass. thank goodness for that.

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things which i am thoroughly enjoying at the moment:

verna's donuts, down the street from my apartment. dense as a set of bricks and old-fashioned liked your good, new england mamma done. what i like more than verna's donuts: the old man who works in the kitchen (likely the son of son of verna's son, or something to that effect) who like clockwork is basking in the spatspat of the frialator as i stumble home drunk from the bar. what i don't like about verna's donuts: my growing ass (?) i need a scale, or another hispanic boyfriend.

mom & pop hair salons (especially like those of winter hill and north cambridge) which may or may not contain any or all of the following words in their store name: unisex, connection, international. the salons where every chatty-cathy stylist looks like my neapolitan mother, all of whom still offer permanents and deem their hair waxing to be "professional" as per window signs, hand-written on computer paper.

sessa's italian market- i like my prosciutto the good old-fashioned way; wrapped in butcher paper with its price by the pound scribbled in pencil by thick, callused deli-man fingers. also- marinated eggplant, fig jam, and chocolate pizzelles. most of all, staring at the variety of malocchio chotchkes available for purchase at the checkout counter.

sitting in front of a fan and not moving- sleeping in front my wind machine, my bed, my antique lace, morning a.m. radio.

denying the reality of student loans and pretending that my pockets are very deep; the subsequent wildly indulgent, late-night etsy escapades. i buy vintage shoes- i'm sorry granite state management & resources.

the homeless lady at park street station- cracks me up on a daily basis, sprawled out as if someone has thrown her and she was never ever able to recover, drowning in illegible cardboard signs, banging a tin can to the concrete and singing her ever so catchy song, "i need foods-money tuh-day, i need yo gen-oh-rah-sah-tay." all day, every day, bless her schizophrenic heart.

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tomorrow's eve i will be homeward bound on a luxurious peter pan bus to new haven. while solitary train rides are near and dear to my heart, i have clearly had to downgrade. it will be okay- hopefully the bus will have those snazzy carpeted seats of electric blue & neon confetti splatter designs, and the driver will use his microphone frequently. this is sure to ease the pain.