hip, happening, caffeinated

January 24, 2003


There was an antiwar demonstration going full swing when I pulled into Davis Square to meet Mark for a caffeinated evening. We used to hang out and drink coffee in Harvard Square decades ago, but Harvard Square has become unbelievably boring. I think it was the Abercrombie & Fitch or maybe the Pacific Sunwear store that finally convinced me the only difference between Harvard Square and a mall is umm... oh... Harvard I guess. I told Mark that ever since McIntyre and Moore had moved to Davis Square there was no reason except possibly the Algiers special mint tea and the Brattle to go into Harvard Square. So we agreed to meet at the Someday (which apparently has an infrequently updated online journal), which is much bigger and hipper than it used to be when it was in the teeny tiny space right next to the Somerville Theater.

I thawed my fingers on the cappuccino glass - the Someday serves their espresso drinks in glasses rather than mugs, hence the book title Glass, Paper, Beans - and watched 20-somethings wearing black suits and waving American flags come and go between the demonstration on the plaza and the warmth of the cafe until Mark arrived. We discussed art and politics and the doom of InfiniBand and how much fun it is to hang out and drink coffee on a Friday night even though I, for one, am far too old to do that. Young people came and went. The antiwar demonstration ended. We talked about whether Dubya or anyone in Washington knew or cared what anybody in Davis Square or anywhere in the northeast thinks about war against Iraq.

We finished round one of caffeine and headed to House of Tibet Kitchen in Teele Square for momos. For a change I had tenchur momos, which are stuffed with spicy tofu and spinach, instead of tsel momos, which are stuffed with potato and vegetables. Mark had the momo combo plate so it was an all momo event. The people watching was entertaining too.

Round two of caffeine was at Diesel. I'd been wanting to go there since it started showing up in the Phoenix's ten best list of coffee shops every year. Nancy and I had walked by it on the way to/from McIntyre and Moore but since we had sworn off coffee at night we never tried it. But I miss the old days of coffee-drinking 'til the wee hours and discussing "what is art" so tonight's expedition was deliberately planned to include caffeine and to include Diesel. We managed to get a table with a good view of the pool tables after standing and juggling our coffee for a few minutes. The place was packed. Two adorable baby dykes were playing at the pool table closest to us and two bearded paunchy guys at the other table. The girls took hardly any time between shots but the guys studied every shot from every angle for ages. It was fun to watch the different styles. The people watching was great at Diesel with all the cute dykes... At least I got a kick out of it.

Fully caffeinated, we stopped in for a 10 minute browse at McIntyre and Moore. We closed the place. Mark went wild with art books and I found a copy of Spring in Washington, a birding classic that I've been looking for. The cashier fell off her chair when I arrived at the register with Spring in Washington. Actually, a wheel broke off the chair and crashed into the wall with a thud. The cashier was unharmed. I was startled but my heart rate soon returned to normal while she looked over Spring in Washington with much interest. Turns out she's a birder and had just gotten new binoculars and a bird book for Christmas. She spoke enthusiastically of the red-breasted mergansers in Fort Point Channel. She mentioned having frozen herself at Mount Auburn earlier in the week without having found any birds. I told her to save Mount Auburn for spring and concentrate on ducks for the winter. She seemed to take my advice to heart. That maybe the first time anyone wearing a pink snowsuit ever took me seriously.

Today's Reading
One Whaling Family by Harold Williams, The Measure of All Things by Ken Alder

This Year's Reading
2003 Book List


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Copyright © 2003, Janet I. Egan