Redemption, Cambridge style

I realized last night after yelling at a fellow motorist for the fourth or fifth time this week that I have occasional issues with rage. These are usually restricted to when I'm in the car, because driving in Cambridge (even more so than in Boston) will destroy your faith in a universal order. The one-way streets and criminalized U-turns are stacked up in such a way that mankind does not stand a chance. You might be able to snake your way through the city without a scratch, but you will die a day earlier in spite of it.

(By the way, a big middle finger to the Porter Square shopping plaza, where I'm sure they'll start pouring sugar into everyone's gas tanks as yet another way to screw you—tight parking spaces, narrow lanes, aloof cabbies and carriage corralers, retarded pedestrians and no way to exit south on Mass. Ave. are not enough in the war against reason. And I seem to be the only one bothered by this.)

Alright, this was supposed to be my positive Cambridge entry. Really, though, I love living here. I love my apartment, and sharing it with A. and my cat Steve and even the corpse of the giant spider I killed last night. I love getting one of the best burgers in town ninety seconds away from my doorstep, and washing it down with a great beer menu to boot (that is, a selection from the beer menu; the menu itself slakes no thirst!). I love walking to Harvard Square and taking advantage of the forty-second Walk light at the main intersection (actually a triangle) that kicks my sanity in the nuts whenever I'm stuck trying to drive through. (I know it's forty seconds because the display counts down from forty. Forty! Seconds!)

Deep breaths. The first thing I love about Cambridge this week actually started out badly. Back in April I walked out to my car that wasn't there—it had been towed. Short story is there was a sign that said you couldn't park there during the day on Tuesday and I was towed on Wednesday. So not only did I have a parking ticket to battle, I had to head out to the tow yard (not subway-accessible, naturally) and drop $65 to retrieve my car. Hey, who doesn't like handing out $65 on a whim? (Of course I'm blaming the city here, not the tow yard. Even though the owner of the place took offense when I made some remark about how no one likes to visit a tow yard because it means you got towed, and who likes that? Hey, they did a good job towing my car. Real nice. But let's not pretend your service offers as pleasant a customer experience as, say, back-alley mattress sales.) The good news is—after many fruitless conversations with an asshole named Margaret who repeatedly assured me my claim was "still being investigated," which I think is bureaucrat-speak for "You and your claim can blow me"—I finally got my goddamn $65 back. I'm thinking I might buy myself $65 worth of gum, chew it up real good and stick it in every city-property keyhole I can find.

Happy story, part two: progress on the William Dawes site! I wrote about this in September, and I'm happy to say the project is nearly complete. Something is seriously wrong though, because they only started on it the other day and should finish by the weekend. This goes against every Cambridge construction policy I'm familiar with. Instead of a lazy/unionized clan there are only like four guys (seems just right) who've actually been working. So I'm guessing they're either non-union (wonderful!) or, even better, four guys who just got sick of looking at that shit and decided to get it done. Bravo! I'll have to give them some of that gum.