Category Archives: Boston

I may have to brave the bitches at the Boston Barney’s in order to get the cologne I want (and by bitches I mean the salesmen on the 2nd floor). To be fair, there’s at least one decent gentleman among the throng of skinny-jean-clad chicsters, but the rest look at me like I’m about to stuff half the store in my ridiculously small messenger bag.

This is, of course, nothing compared to the way I sometimes get looked at in Neiman Marcus, but that’s so over the top they know they’re being ridiculous. I think it’s a game between us at this point, with smiles uncontained on both sides.

Oddly enough, it’s the Saks 5th Avenue store in the Prudential Center where I’m treated the best in spite of whatever I happen to be wearing. No matter that I’ve only been able to purchase socks there in the last year (and those at 40 percent off).

It’s the principle of the whole thing that bothers me. I can dress up with the best of them, and walk into any of those stores carrying just as much attitude as I’m given, but why should I have to do that? When I go shopping in a pair of ratty sneakers, baggy shorts, and a comfy T-shirt with a hole or two in it, my American Express card has just as long a line of credit as it does when I’m decked out in an Armani suit, Gucci underwear, and Prada shoes.

I recognize the inherent paradox here. How can someone so seemingly obsessed with fashion and clothing possibly cry foul at judging a person based on appearance and dress? It’s probably because no matter what I’m wearing, I always try to be a decent human being. Underneath it all. And in spite of how much I poke fun at others or ridicule my co-workers for what they wear (you know who you are), I never really form my opinion of anyone based on their clothes.

Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known. – F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

In the unlikeliest of places, this tomato plant sprouted in the pavement of Boston. On a side street off of Newbury, it was a surprising bit of green in a concrete jungle, valiantly defying its surroundings. It must have come from a seed that found its way into the small bit of earth no wider than a cigarette filter.

My heart went out to the little guy, trying so hard to make it in a world where he doesn’t belong, and a world that likely won’t allow him to grow to his full potential. He probably won’t bear any flowers, much less fruit, but he hasn’t given up just yet. Maybe he doesn’t know the limits imposed upon him, maybe he’s blissfully unaware of the treacherously small pocket of soil in which his roots have to spread, or the scorching drought of a city sidewalk in the summer.

Still he stretches to be taller, his slightly furry leaves arching over the pavement. He lives for the moment, and having brought some thoughtfulness into my life, his existence has merit, and I wonder how many others he has touched.

“I think a vodka gimlet at Sonsie’s would hit the spot right now,” she said to no one in particular. I smiled and nodded, even though at the time I had no idea what a vodka gimlet was. “You know, the kind with fresh lime juice. Sonsie’s makes them the best.”

I sat there sweltering, picturing the sophisticated scene at Sonsie’s and feeling like I’d never belong there, or anywhere, and wishing I had just a small bit of this woman’s ease and confidence.

It was the summer I had long hair, so I must have been a sorry sight with my sad little ponytail and baggy Structure wardrobe, melting into the seat behind her, but I was watching and learning, and becoming.

I’m heading out for one last weekend in Boston before the wedding, to finalize a dinner spot and to celebrate a friend’s birthday. It is my final official weekend in the city as a single man, but as friends have rightfully pointed out, nothing much is going to change. It turns out I’ve spent the last ten years free as a bird, and marrying Andy is only going to add a few diamonds and some platinum.

So many people start dating someone and then suddenly become a package instead of an individual. Andy and I have maintained our individual pursuits and lives while being in a committed relationship, and we wouldn’t have it any other way. I always need reminding that I’m lucky in this respect – I tend to forget that a lot of people don’t have such freedom and trust. They give it up willingly in the good instances, not so willingly in the bad. I’ve never had to choose, and I’d never be able to be with someone who made me.

This weekend will be a throwback to my bachelor days in Boston, complete with a night that’s starting off with cocktails at the condo to celebrate my friend JoAnn’s birthday. Things glow differently now that we’re sliding toward the upper side of our thirties, but I think we get a little better as each year passes. No matter how far apart we live or how much time passes between visits, my friendship with JoAnn has only grown richer and stronger over the years. We’ve had many memorable adventures, and we’re looking to add a new chapter this weekend.

As for my last remaining days as a single man, this journey is just beginning…

Andy and I spent an enjoyable weekend in Boston finishing up the last of our wedding preparations. We arrived to a city ensconced in a rain and wind storm, to which both of our umbrellas succumbed before the night blew it out of town.

The next morning dawned with the wind, but the sun soon took over, and I plucked this potent Korean spice viburnum blossom, which filled the bedside table with its fragrance.

We took a brief excursion through the Boston Public Garden just before stopping by Shreve, Crump and Low to try on my wedding ring and see if Andy liked one for himself.

Now we have two, and the only thing left to do is get married.

The whole city appears to have blossomed after the rain, and flowering trees lined our every step.

The cherry blossoms were above us wherever we went, in soft shades of pink and white.

The pink jacket I’ve been searching for proved elusive yet again, even in every single store on Newbury Street. From Ralph Lauren to Marc Jabobs to Lilly Pulitzer to Ted Baker to Neiman Marcus and Saks, nowhere was there a pink jacket to be found in the city of Boston. And so dusk fell…

I think a Spring evening in Boston is one my favorite moments in life, and for some reason always puts me in the mind of Gatsby.

“At the enchanted metropolitan twilight I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others – poor young clerks who loitered in front of windows waiting until it was time for a solitary restaurant dinner – young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Andy and I walked through the South End, stopping for a couple of cookies, then made our way back home. The next time we’ll be in Boston will be for our wedding.