Spring is right around the corner.

I can tell by the mounds of black snow surrounding my morning walk to work from North Station. They refuse to yield to the sun's warmth. They refuse to acknowledge the hope and joy or the silly, lovely lilt of warmer climes and happier times. Or something like that. They are ugly. I ride the T every day to and from work. In Boston, unlike New York where the various subway lines are steeped in interesting history and lore (see Jonathan Lethems' "Speak, Hoyt-Shermerhorn" from his book of essays The Disappointment Artist), our beloved and beleaguered subway (although older and much hyped) is just slow and kind of annoying, much like I imagine I was thought of in High School. The interesting stations with any possibly hidden or forbidden history have been "re-done", any traces of uniqueness or history white-washed away in favor of the wallpapering of my dulled senses via clever and colorful (ouch) ads for the iPod (are those stickers?). Sigh... my commute makes me introspective, but none of the illuminating products of this quiet time ever survive outside the tunnel. I am left trying to relate what it felt like to have deep thoughts on the train, rather than those thoughts themselves. Perhaps you are lucky that these revelations never emerge into the scrutiny of company and instead collapse upon their fragile selves pre-communication. Perhaps it's even possible that my blog could be more boring and self indulgent. Perhaps, Perhaps, Perrrrrhaps.

My mom is turning 65 tomorrow. We are having a family party and eating lots of good food (that my mother is going to cook at her insistence which is weird but normal too). My whole family is getting together to celebrate. I'm leaving work early. I don't know how to make this birthday more special than other birthdays. I wish I could do something or write something that would make it more... just make it more. She's 65, that's important. Things like this always seem to happen at the busiest moments when you can't get anything done aand are hopelessly caught up in yourself. I hope my mother will have fun and not feel disappointed. I usually feel sort of disappointed at birthday parties.

Non-Sequitor...
Here's my 30 second play "Katy on the T"

Katy: (balanced precariously with one hand on the bar above her head and the other holding the free Metro newspaper)
Man in Seat: (Looking at her for inappropriate length of time, unhappy)
Katy: (Looks at man, thinks to self "Should I not try to read the paper because it seems to annoy this man")
Man in Seat: (in his mind) "That rattling of the paper! It's driving me mad! Why do all the crazy people have to stand near me. Grrrr."
Katy: (Looking back at picture of Michael Jackson supporters outside courtroom, thinks to self "No, I mean, he has a seat, right? He's fine. Those girls are too young to have even heard Thriller..."
Man in Seat: (Rising suddenly when the train stops, sing songily chirping "Excuuuse Meeee" knocking Katy off balance and subsequently to the floor)
Katy: (Boom!) Ow. Thanks (as a few people help her up and gather her things)
Conductor: North Station! Next Stop!

Until Next Time...