Spring Forward, and All That

March. March? Really? Ok, I guess.

It is my quals semester. I should be stressed out, but I've been conscientiously reading some other dude's PhD thesis watching Alex Cabot episodes of SVU and practicing the secret extra verse to the Fresh Prince of Bel Air's intro rap (watch Season One, fools). 

It's getting warmer, and Cambridge walks are wonderful. Garden Street, ever-menacing, fed my deep-seated fears of being lured into captivity once more: Wednesday morning, I counted twenty to thirty brightly-colored candied oblate spheroids strewn between Grey Gardens and Robinson. Orange, yellow, brown. Thought: If M&M's, not likely to be effective child-trap. Reds and the greens are crucial to maintaining visual appeal. Second thought: probably Reese's pieces. Reese's pieces?! A bit lavish, no? I guess jelly beans didn't pan out very well, huh? Third thought: most likely explanation presumably involves inadvertent candy-loss by children (primary consumers?), notoriously unable to hold on to anything. Children of North Cambridge: stop spilling candy everywhere. It's a waste of good sugar, and it makes me anxious.

Walking on Huron Avenue a couple nights ago prompted further contemplation. I was trudging north, grocery-laden, when my peripheral vision picked up on a dark masculine figure emerging from a doorway to my right. Not quite emerging. Lurking. Inexplicably holding a large dry sausage. I'm not resorting to crude euphemism here: the guy was just standing in a doorway, looking out over Huron Ave, holding sausage, preoccupied. Note to self: If at any point you absolutely must be in possession of a large dry sausage, do not lurk. (We mustn't lurk in doorways. It's rude --Ed.). I'm sure this guy was waiting to go out to some dinner party and had decided to bring sausage, which is thoughtful.

Anyway, it's high time I did something productive with my day. Hope all is well, regards,

R.